《Hexe | The Long Night》


 01 [CH. 0001] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Hexe


    Heh?xeh


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: A creature who is both cursed and blessed, resulting from a mutual spell performed with another individual.


    </blockquote>


    HEXE - BOOK of  The Great Exodus


    It was a beautiful night to say goodbye.


    The night glowed with nine moons that adorned the sky, each in varying states of wax and wane, suspended like a string of radiant pearls across the firmament. It was almost as if the cosmos itself were paying tribute to this simple human child on her last journey. At least for now.


    A wolf lingered in the shadowy border where the forest met the clearing. His fur was so deep and raven that it seemed woven from the darkness itself. The Howling Night, they called him¡ªone of the most powerful Spirits to ever exist, believed to possess the arcane ability to weave time, to make, to stitch, and to break the strand of continuity. But now, his black eyes bore their attention only to the unfolding drama before him.


    The villagers amassed at the riverbank, with faces etched in a sombre blend of pain and ritualistic sorrow. It was a child''s funeral and the birth of a new Spirit. But only the wolf could know the latter.


    The men lowered a small wooden boat into the water. It was the child''s last vessel, bearing the fragile form of a pale, lifeless girl swaddled in linen. A howl cut through the air, raw and anguished. Not of the wolf but of a mother''s cry, her pain overflowing the assembled crowd, through the whispering reeds, and across the water''s surface, as if seeking to breach the very veil of night.


    "My Marie, my little Marie, no, no..." she screamed, ¡°no, no, no¡­¡± Her face contorted, teetering between despair and the futile hope that her voice might summon her back to life. "My baby, my Marie, she is... she is... no, she can¡¯t."


    Friends and family began to lay offerings on the boat¡ªwreaths of wildflowers, trinkets of bone and stone, and parcels of food for the journey to the beyond. The air became heavy with the scent of jasmine and lavender while beeswax candles flickered like the souls of the departed.


    As the boat drifted and docked downriver, the archers took their positions. Longbows were nocked, their arrowheads soaked in burning oil. A reverent hush fell upon the crowd.


    "May your aim be true," intoned the village elder, a grizzled man with weathered skin like tree bark, while he and two other men pushed the boat to the water.


    The archers drew back in unison, sinews straining and bows creaking. A moment of suspension, like the world was holding its breath¡ªand then they released.


    But not a single arrow found its mark. They arced high, veering left and right, some plunging into the water while others vanished into the misty night with a dying flame. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.


    "It''s a sign," whispered a woman, her eyes wide.


    "Or a curse," retorted another, nervously clutching her shawl.


    "Try again!" the old man shouted.


    The archers dipped their arrows in oil, set them aflame, and finally lifted their bows. They pulled back the strings with a sense of grief.


    "Release," commanded the elder.


    The archers let go, their strings vibrating like the chords of a sad harp. The flaming arrows arced through the air, drawing luminous trails against the night sky. Every eye followed their path, and every heart held a silent prayer. They descended in a flawless arc toward the drifting raft.


    And then, a miracle¡ªor perhaps the divine intervention of the gods or the veiled influence of the Howling Night¡ªeach arrow halted mere inches above the raft as if hitting an invisible barrier. A collective gasp swept through the villagers.


    The arrows hung there for a moment that felt like an eternity before they extinguished and plummeted harmlessly into the river, leaving the child untouched in her final resting place.


    A gasp of surprise swept through the villagers, interrupted by the sound of approaching hooves on the stony ground. The noise cut through the silence, startling the assembled men and women. A procession of five horses, seemingly conjured from the mist, threaded its way through the narrow lanes, their riders draped in black robes that seemed to drink in the light.


    One of them dismounted and walked barefoot toward the grieving mother kneeling by the water''s edge, her hands clasped in fervent prayer. When he reached her, the man paused for a heartbeat, his eyes searching hers, finding mute permission in her tears. With a quiet, almost reverent motion, he began unfastening his robe. The fabric whispered as it slid off his shoulders, and he gently placed it around the grieving mother, covering her quivering frame.


    As the robe settled over her, the villagers gasped once more. Translucent wings unfurled from his back, their tips brushing the earth like the long, flowing cape of a stellar king. There was no room for doubt; a Menschen was grieving with them.


    "That''s Yeso," one man whispered, eyes widening.


    "The Commander!" another voice confirmed.


    "What''s he doing here?"


    Yeso''s features defied the obsidian backdrop of the night. His skin was the shade of the moon, framed by locks of hair that were not hair at all but fine threads of diamond.


    However, it was his eyes that dispelled any doubts of his identity¡ªeyes of an indescribable hue, as if borrowing colours from realms yet undiscovered. They lent him an unnatural aura, making him appear as if he were a Spirit incarnate.


    With a touch, his fingertips¡ªtinged a celestial blue¡ªwiped away the tears coursing down the mother''s face. It was a gesture so tender that it seemed almost incongruous, coming from a man known more for his martial and magic prowess than his empathy.


    "Look at me," he said, his voice as soft as the wind rustling through autumn leaves.


    When the mother''s eyes met his, something passed between them¡ªan understanding, a glimmer of comfort in a world that had suddenly become unfathomable. With one arm still wrapped in his robe, he helped her to her feet. Her posture straightened, fortified by his presence.


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    "Tonight is not the funeral of your child," Yeso murmured and raised a finger towards the water. ¡°This is the rebirth of a new Spirit."


    As Yeso pointed, the woman''s eyes followed, and what she saw stole her breath away. There, defying the laws of nature, a massive, dire wolf strode across the water. It wasn''t just its size or grace that captivated the onlookers; it was its very being¡ªa creature spun from the same cosmic tapestry as the sky above.


    Its fur swirled with constellations, nebulae, and pinpricks of radiant light as if the universe had lent a portion of itself to craft this arcane being.


    "The Howling Night," the woman murmured, her voice barely more than a reverent whisper.


    The wolf reached the drifting boat and, with an agility that belied its size, settled beside the child''s lifeless form. It turned its eyes¡ªdepthless pools that seemed to have captured the essence of the night sky silenced any murmurs from the crowd.


    All who observed, Men and women, young and old, felt they were part of something greater than themselves. Tonight was a beautiful night to see a Spirit to be reborn.


    The wind seemed to speak to the Howling Night as it rustled through his dense, inky fur. His dark eyes fixed on the child''s face, innocence frozen in eternal sleep. Gently, he leaned down and nudged her cheek with his nuzzle.


    The girl''s eyes flicked open with surprising speed, her brow furrowing in a comically peeved expression. "What are you doing?" she snapped, as though irritated by an unwelcome awakening.


    "It''s time," responded the Howling Night.


    "Don''t you see I''m dead?" the girl retorted, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.


    "Yet you speak," countered the wolf.


    "You woke me up!"


    For a moment, the Howling Night simply locked his gaze with her.


    "Why am I talking?" The girl''s voice trembled as realization dawned on her.


    "Because Spirits can¡¯t leave the living, and your journey has not yet ended," the wolf responded, a note of ancient wisdom colouring his words. "It has begun."


    ¡°Said who?¡±


    ¡°Your Master!¡±


    The child sighed and rolled her eyes, a remarkably human gesture that seemed incongruous with the surreal tableau. "Very well, give me a moment."


    She closed her eyes, her face scrunching up in concentration. Her head quivered subtly, and then, her mouth opened to release a tiny white mouse. The creature jumped free from between her lips and scampered onto the raft, its nose twitching as it surveyed its new surroundings.


    The little white mouse circled the vessel, almost as if searching for something¡ªuntil its eyes, glowing an unearthly red, finally met the gaze of the wolf standing in front of her.


    "So where are they?" The mouse''s voice was barely a squeak, but it carried a gravity that belied its small stature.


    "Who?"


    "My master!" The mouse''s tail twitched impatiently. "We had an agreement, Howl. You said you''d call me back to this realm only when my master was born. So, where is he? Or she¡ªis it a girl?"


    Howling Night''s eyes flickered as though a secret danced just behind them. "Well, they haven''t been born yet."


    "That wasn''t the deal!" The mouse''s voice hit a high note of irritation. "You promised to wake me when there was someone for me to serve. Why am I here, a Spirit in a world where I have no master? What am I supposed to do?"


    Howling Night looked away, its gaze drifting to the moons. Finally, its eyes met the mouse''s again, but it offered no answer.


    The mouse''s whiskers quivered in more annoyance. "Do you think this is some sort of game? My existence hinges on having a purpose, a master to serve. You have your master! I need mine!"


    Still, Howling Night remained silent, its enigmatic eyes revealing nothing. The wolf seemed to grow larger, its presence enveloping the Night, yet he refused to answer.


    The mouse sniffed disdainfully, its small frame shaking with indignation. "Fine. If you won''t tell me, I''ll find out myself. I''m good at that, you know. I always find a way. I am the Dreamer, the walker between realms!"


    "That is why I called you. I need you." the wolf confessed.


    "Why? Why me?" The mouse''s red eyes narrowed, its whiskers twitching as if tasting the weight of Howling Night''s confession. "You need me? The walker between realms, the Dreamer? That''s rich, coming from you."


    "That is precisely why I called you back," Howling Night finally admitted, his voice tinged with a weariness that seemed almost human. "I need you. Your Master needs you!"


    ¡°They are not here!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll come soon enough.¡±


    "Why not summon the other Spirits? The Dual-Headed Fish, the Ram, the Wind-Eagle, or¡ª" The mouse paused, trying to recall. "Who was the other one?"


    Howling Night''s eyes flickered again as if irritated by the interruption. "I need you. The fish lacks empathy for what''s required. The Ram is too skittish, too unreliable. The Wind-Eagle¡ªwell, you know them. Impossible to have a decent conversation with. I need someone who can perceive more than what merely exists before them."


    The mouse felt a chill crawl up its spine. "What''s going on, Howl? What''s so dire that you''ve disturbed my rest and broken our agreement?"


    "The End of Time is near," Howling Night said, lowering his head as if the weight of his failure bore down on him. "I''ve tried to prevent it, done everything within my capabilities, but I can''t stop it alone. I don''t know where I went wrong."


    The mouse blinked, letting the wolf''s words settle in. "How much time do we have?"


    "Two generations are to be born."


    ¡±Two generations? That''s not a ticking time bomb. That''s a leisurely countdown."


    Howling Night didn''t raise his head. Instead, he met the mouse''s eyes with a look of such profound sadness that it took the smaller creature aback. "It''s not as much time as you think. The end always comes, always takes the same form."


    "How many times have you tried?" The mouse''s voice was softer, ¡°How many times did you turn back time?¡±


    Howling Night paused as if measuring each word. "As many times as it took to realize that I needed to awaken you."


    The mouse sat back on its haunches, contemplating the wolf''s admission. A thousand questions buzzed in its mind, each begging to be voiced, but the wolf didn¡¯t need them. He needed words of affirmation¡ªhope!


    "Then let''s not waste any more time," the mouse said finally. "If the End of Time is coming, and I''m the missing piece of the cosmic puzzle, we''d best start putting it together. If I''m to be a Spirit without master but with a purpose, then let that be this: to help you mend whatever rift is tearing at the fabric of Time itself."


    Howling Night looked at the mouse, his eyes shimmering with something that looked a lot like hope. "Then we begin, Dreamer. Now we walk."


    The mouse nodded, its red eyes glowing brighter as if fueled by the newfound purpose. It leapt off the raft, landing gracefully on the riverbank beside the wolf. "To save the world, then!"


    "To save the world," Howling Night echoed, "again."


    And so, under the watchful eyes of the moon and stars, the two Spirits ventured into the night, bound by a quest neither fully understood but both were desperate to complete.


    Yeso caught a fleeting glimpse of Howling Night and the new Spirit departing from the raft and disappearing into the shadowy maze of the woods beyond from the corners of his eyes.


    Turning to the woman beside him, he gently touched her shrouded shoulder. "She''s ready now," he said softly, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.


    The woman nodded, and Yeso gestured for his companion to draw near. They joined a small group of villagers standing at the ready, bows taut and arrows nocked. A quartet of mages completed the semicircle, their fingers flickering with firelight and crackling magic. The mages moved their wrists in circular eights, sending sparks of fire dancing around their fingers like fireflies at dusk.


    "Para!" Yeso barked, his command slicing through the night air in the guttural language of Menschen.


    Obedient to his word, the mages halt their incantations, their fireballs suspended in mid-air as if awaiting their leader''s next directive. The villagers instinctively retreated, moving away from the heat and the glow.


    "Ja!" Yeso shouted, giving the final order.


    Like meteorites plummeting to earth, the four fireballs surged forth, crashing into the solitary raft that bobbed gently on the water''s surface. In an instant, the wooden vessel was consumed by flames, a pyre on the river, carrying away the last physical remnants of a life passed.


    As the raft burned, the crowd fell into a hushed reverence. Their eyes fixated on the fiery spectacle as if mesmerized by its tragic beauty. The mourning mother lowered her head, her shoulders trembling as if releasing a burden she''d carried far too long.


    Yeso, watching the raft disintegrate into ashes and embers, thought of its end that was also a beginning, and as he glanced once more toward the forest where Howling Night and the Little Mouse had vanished. He couldn''t shake the feeling that their world stood on the precipice of something his nightmares could not even fathom.


    <blockquote>


    "In the threads of history <s>that my father</s>, Yeso Sternacht, wove into, one confronts an inescapable enigma. Did the man who mastered the arcane of the Sun beyond mortal comprehension succumb to the very powers he tamed? Or did he, perhaps, transcend this realm by some other Hex? As <s>his son and</s> a chronicler of history, I find his absence as telling as his life¡ªboth are phenomena that enrich our understanding of the magical and mundane worlds. His mystery remains a curious footnote that beckons us to question: Where did the Magi start, and where does the magic end?" ¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by <s>Orlo Yeso Sternacht</s> Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0002] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Dame


    Dah?meh


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: A sovereign title denoting control over land, sea, sky, and the ley lines that weave the fabric of the world. "Dame" refers to the feminine form, while "Rame" is the masculine equivalent.


    Usage: This title is used for individuals who, beyond mere rulership, possess the ability to influence and harmonize the ley lines ¡ª the currents that maintain the world''s balance. Both "Dame" and "Rame" carry the responsibility of protecting and overseeing the natural and arcane forces within their domain.


    </blockquote>


    The nine moons still hung low in the night sky, casting shadows over the meandering Meerio River. Five horses thundered against the hard-packed earth, heading toward Keblurg''s capital, which grew clearer on the horizon. As they approached, they could see the two colossal Guardians'' Statues of Keblurg looming, silent sentinels of stone observing their advance.


    The five black-robed riders finally reached the castle gates as dawn broke. A sentry, startled awake by the clamour, hurriedly cranked the wheel that lifted the portcullis. The iron bars rose with a rusty creak, and Yeso didn''t wait for formalities.


    Urging his horse forward, he led his entourage into the castle courtyard, where the cobblestones seemed to echo their arrival. The horses'' hooves slowed to a trot, then a walk, as they made their way through the arches and into the stone embrace of the castle. Servants and guards alike paused in their morning chores, casting curious and sometimes suspicious glances at the newcomers. After all, they weren''t humans. They were Menschen.


    Dismounting, Yeso handed his horse''s reins to a stable boy who scurried forward, his eyes wide with awe. "See to them," he said curtly. "They''ve earned their rest."


    The boy nodded vigorously, leading the horses away to stalls lined with fresh hay and buckets of water.


    Yeso turned his attention to his disciples, each dismounting and stretching cramped muscles, their faces etched with the strain of a ride that had pushed the boundaries of endurance.


    "We''ve made it finally, but we''re not done. Not by a long shot." he finally said, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. ¡°And remember, there will be no sword, only words!¡±


    The group didn''t utter a word, but it was clear who agreed and who did not. His gaze swept across the faces of his Magis, lingering on each for a moment.


    Redfred, the eldest of their group, had been a silent presence throughout the journey, yet his silence spoke volumes. His disapproval of negotiating with humans was an open secret, one that was both respected and quietly challenged within their ranks.


    With his mane-like black hair and sharp features, Redfred looked every bit the archetypal Magi from an era long past¡ªa time when the Menschen held undisputed dominion over other beings, a notion he clearly still clung to. His face was an austere mask, suggesting a severity that perhaps outstripped the reality of the man beneath it. But, severe or not, Redfred was a force to be reckoned with, and Yeso knew his presence here was both a strength and a complication.


    Jear''s red skin contrasted sharply with his flowing black hair. The prominent Tiefling horns that curved from his forehead gave him an air of otherworldly menace, yet those who looked closely might detect a softness in his blue eyes.


    Though he lacked the appearance of a typical Menschen, no one could deny the blue blood running through his veins. His bloodline was as blue as they came, a paradox that often placed him at the intersection of admiration and prejudice. But Menschen were not a race. They were a blood. Blood made of raw magic.


    Then there was Muru, a rather young Menschen. His beard had barely popped out, but strands of dark red hair were half-braided in accordance with old traditions¡ªa nod to his upbringing and beliefs. Muru was not as outspoken as Redfred, but Yeso knew that the young mage shared some of the elder''s sentiments regarding Menschen''s fake superiority.


    It concerned Yeso. While Redfred was set in his ways, a product of his time, Muru was still at an impressionable age. He was like clay waiting to be shaped, and Yeso wondered what form that clay would ultimately take. Would it harden into a vessel of entrenched beliefs or soften and expand to hold a more nuanced understanding of the world?


    Mediah was half-Menschen, half-human, marking him as a living embodiment of the confluence of two worlds¡ªneither fully one nor the other, yet wholly himself. His hazel hair was pulled back into a messy bun. Unlike Muru, whose fledgling beard marked his young face, Mediah''s charm was only accentuated by the absence of facial hair.


    Finally gathering his cloak around him, Yeso headed toward the castle''s main entrance. The massive doors swung open before him, pushed by guards who recognized their robes, if not his intent. As they all stepped into the light of the grand hall, Yeso couldn''t help but feel that he was crossing a threshold far greater than the one beneath his feet.


    They reached the grandiose throne room, where the air felt thick, and each step echoed on the stone as if it were a drumbeat signalling an impending political duel. King Ieagan Kaspian sat on his throne, his skeletal frame swallowed by lavish garments¡ªhis tunic embroidered with gold and a red and white fox-fur mantle that looked heavier than the man wearing it. His eyes, piercing and unyielding, seemed to bore into each of them as if sifting through their intentions and their worth.


    The herald ran in front of the Magis to announce each one of them but faltered through the introductions, clearly unnerved by the absence of surnames for some. "Your Highness, this is Magi Yeso Sternacht, Magi Redfred Dagurstea, Magi Muru Ann, Magi Jear... huh, no surname and Mediah... no, no¡­ I mean Magi Mediah..." he stammered and continued with the rest before pausing.


    It was clear he expected some sort of traditional gesture¡ªperhaps a bow or a kneel. But the Magis remained still, the room marinating in an uncomfortable silence.


    Yeso had long run out of patience for such courtly games, no matter if they were played by humans, elves, or Menschen. But he also knew how much the courts revelled in spectacle and grandeur, and if they wanted drama, he was willing to deliver, though not in the way they expected.


    With a deliberate movement, Yeso pulled back the sleeves of his robe, letting them slide above his shoulders. His wings unfurled majestically, spreading outward in a dramatic arc that seemed to fill the entire room. Each wing was massive, nearly the height of two men and three times as wide¡ªa statement that could not be ignored.


    "I see your kind doesn''t know protocols," the king sneered, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the insolent display.


    Yeso offered a subdued smile, keeping his gaze lowered momentarily before locking eyes with Jear. Raising his head to meet the king''s gaze, he replied, "And yours loves to create new ones."


    The room seemed to hold its breath. The two opposing forces¡ªKing and Magi, tradition and rebellion¡ªstood their ground, sizing each other up.


    "Speak Blue-One! What do you want?"


    Yeso resisted the urge to react to the king''s derogatory term ''Blue-One.'' There were bigger matters at hand, and if anything, the name only underlined the urgency of their cause.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    "I came on behalf of the Centaurs concerning Moonbay," Yeso declared.


    "What about it? It is Kaspian''s territory. We own the Centaurs," King Ieagan replied, as though discussing a piece of property rather than living, sentient beings.


    Yeso began to pace slowly, his wings folding like a translucid royal mantle, spilling down his back and onto the floor behind him while still emanating a quiet strength. "The King of Keblurg must understand that Centaurs are not merely chattel. They are like humans, elves, faeries, orcs, dwarfs, and even dragons. They are Fae, and they demand to be treated as such. Did you know they bleed red blood? The blood they bleed is the blood you own!"


    "And what''s your point, Blue-One? Even cows have red blood. Should I be concerned about their civic rights as well?" The king''s tone dripped with condescension.


    "Well, it would be nice," Mediah muttered under his breath, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. An awkward moment passed, but Yeso broke it by taking control of the conversation.


    "I''ve spoken to the King of Spiyles. If you agree to declare Moonbay an independent state, they will not intervene. Moonbay is where the Centaurs mate and where they build their families. They can''t create a nest in any other place in Mir-Grande-Carta, or the Great Continent, as humans call it."


    Yeso stopped and locked his eyes on the human king. "The Centaurs have agreed that once their land is free, they can be contracted to the highest bidder, be it Keblurg or Spiyles."


    Moonbay had never been the true point of contention between Spiyles and Keblurg; it was always about the Centaurs. As military assets, the Centaurs were invaluable¡ªstrong, agile, and capable of decimating legions within moments. Yet, the incessant conflict between the two nations over this piece of land had begun to jeopardize the Centaurs'' very ability to procreate. Yeso was here to halt their slide toward extinction. But he also had an altered intention in the matter, one that surpassed the quarrels between two make-believe kings.


    Ieagan Kaspian''s eyes narrowed, calculating the implications. For a moment, the entire room felt suspended in a palpable silence. Finally, the king spoke, his voice tinged with a begrudging respect, "Very well, Blue-One. You expect me to consider your proposal?"


    Yeso stopped his pacing, contemplating the weight of his next moves. If he couldn''t forge a bridge of understanding and tolerance between the humans and the other races, the consequences would be dire. The Herbstdame¡ªknown to humans as the Fallqueen¡ªwould have no choice but to isolate Ormburg from the rest of the world. With the mass exodus of the Menschen to their homeland, magic would evaporate from the Great Continent.


    In such circumstances, every creature, regardless of their magical lineage or lack thereof, would find themselves severed from their source of power. This would be true for those with mortal, red blood as well as those with more colourful bloodlines ¡ª blue, green, stone, and others imbued with magic. Each would experience a disconnection from the energies that they had once tapped into.


    And that was something Yeso could not let happen; he believed magic was a gift that belonged to all, not just a select few. Therefore, it was vital for his negotiation to be successful, so he had evidence that he could present to his Dame that humans could live with Menschen.


    As he stood there, he was vividly aware that thousands of Menschen settlements were counting on him, stretching from Faewood to Spiyles and then to Keblurg. They were communities on the edge of oblivion, waiting for their Dame to sever ties with a world that had failed to understand them. The Fallqueen was prepared to make that cataclysmic decision. Her hand stayed only by Yeso''s persistent appeals for more time, for one more chance to mend what was broken.


    He had always told her that compassion was possible¡ªthat humans could learn to see the sacredness in all life, that they could learn the humility to share the magic of the world. But she had grown weary, sceptical of his idealistic views. "Humans have eyes, but they do not see. They have ears, but they do not hear," she would often say. And, standing in King Ieagan Kaspian''s throne room, Yeso couldn''t help but feel that he was losing his argument.


    Maybe it was destined for humans to lose out on magic, to never fully comprehend its depths and intricacies. Maybe he was fighting against the tide of destiny itself, a lone voice crying out in a wilderness that had long since given up listening.


    But as he looked over at his companions¡ªJear, who was more hopeful than him, Redfred steeped in old-school beliefs, Muru still finding his way in the world, and Mediah, a living testament to the blending of races¡ªYeso found a flicker of hope. These were his people, diverse yet united, each one a complex tapestry of beliefs, cultures, and magical abilities.


    Yeso cleared his throat. He didn''t know what to say. He felt defeated.


    "Father!" a young voice shouted at the end of the room.


    Yeso and the others turned their head to find the source. A young boy, scarcely older than Muru and Mediah, sprinted toward them. His clothes were simple, almost unassuming. His hair was wet, and his skin was sweaty. Had he not called the king "Father," Yeso would never have pegged this short, chubby child as the heir to Keblurg''s throne.


    "What do you want, Xendrix? Can''t you see I''m in an important meeting?" King Ieagan Kaspian snarled without sparing a glance for his son.


    "I might have a solution. For everyone!" The boy panted, clearly winded from his sprint across the throne room. Yeso noticed some red stains on the young boy¡¯s sleeve. He found it strange but didn¡¯t delve into it.


    "A solution? From you?" The king scoffed. "Oh-oh, this should be entertaining. Go ahead, boy, share your stroke of genius."


    "Father, listen. You want power¡ªthat''s why you want the centaurs. But the Menschen want to avoid exodus because magic will leave with them," Xendrix blurted, his words stumbling over each other in their haste to escape.


    "What good is magic if we can''t use it, you fool?" The king was nearing the end of his patience.


    "It''s not true that we can''t use it! We just have to touch it. That''s why it''s so elusive. But there''s a way¡ªit''s called alchemy, right?" The young prince turned to Yeso for validation. "Alchemy is real, isn''t it?"


    "It is," Yeso affirmed, intrigued by where the young boy was heading with this, though still hesitant about the potential repercussions.


    "We can learn alchemy! It¡¯s magic through tools and objects. Things we can touch! It will give us magic¡ªfor-for-for healing, for agriculture, even for-for-for warfare. Just like the elves, orcs, and dwarfs, we won''t be at a disadvantage!"


    "And who would learn this alchemy? You? You can''t even multiply numbers right, and you still think the sun rotates around the world! And you think, little brat, you can grasp the essence of magic?"


    "I can learn, Father! They''re Magi¡ªthey can teach me! All I''m asking is for time. Don''t make any decisions yet. Let me learn, and if I can harness magic, then we won''t need the centaurs."


    "You''re filling the room with foolish ideas," the king dismissed.


    Xendrix locked eyes with his father, a new passion flickering in his gaze. "If the ''Blue-Ones'' leave, so will the centaurs, the dwarfs, and anyone else with magic. Ormburg will become a power vacuum. What''s stopping the Fallqueen from returning later when we have no chance?"


    For the first time, King Ieagan looked rattled. The room held its collective breath; every eye turned toward him.


    "He¡¯s right," mumbled Mediah, once more attracting attention to himself. "Sorry... I¡¯ll be quiet now."


    Yeso sensed the tides shifting, a delicate balance teetering on the edge. He looked at Xendrix and nodded subtly as if to say, "You''re on the right track, young one." Though teaching humans the delicate craft of alchemy was a risky gambit, it also offered a middle ground¡ªa chance for coexistence, for the magic to stay and bless the lives of all the realm''s inhabitants.


    For the first time, a glint of cautious hope ignited in Yeso''s eyes. He gazed at Xendrix, whose face was a kaleidoscope of energy and youthful optimism¡ªunshaped clay waiting to be moulded. But that look was tempered by something else¡ªa shadow that seemed to cross the young prince''s features. It was as if an unspoken forewarning lurked in the room, settling over him like a dark shroud.


    Glancing over his shoulder, Yeso caught sight of the Howling Night and the Dreamer Mouse at the entrance of the room. It was as if they were witnessing a pivotal moment, a fulcrum upon which futures would tip, a fragile hinge between new beginnings and looming ends.


    Returning his attention to the boy, then back to the king, Yeso felt a tightening knot in his stomach, a wave of nausea spiralling his throat, but he held still. This fragile moment carried immense weight, and the consequences would ripple across realms and races.


    "Your son speaks wisdom beyond his years, King Ieagan," Yeso finally broke the silence. "Perhaps we should listen. The world is changing, and those who cannot adapt will be swept away. Alchemy could be a bridge between our peoples, a way to share the magic that belongs to all."


    King Ieagan looked from his son to Yeso, then back to his son. The room held its breath as if waiting for a spell to be cast¡ªor broken.


    <blockquote>


    "One can''t overlook the Exodus as a particularly agonizing chapter for the Menschen¡ªThe Blue-Ones. As a people bound by both the arcane and the tangible, our selective gatekeeping of magical knowledge cast long shadows over that migration¡ªshadows that persist today. It begs to question: What if magic had been democratized, spread not just among the elite few but the many¡ªhumans? Would the Exodus have taken a different, less sorrowful path? Would the world we now inhabit be fundamentally altered? These are not mere speculations; they are questions that gnaw at the core of our historical understanding. Personally, it carries an added weight: Had magic been a communal heritage rather than a hoarded treasure, perhaps I would have grown up in the embrace of my mother and the pride of my father, unravelling life under their shared guidance, their love perhaps."¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0003] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Mir fado


    MeerFah?doh


    Type: Phrase


    Meaning: A sense or omen that something is about to happen, both good and bad. Used to express a premonition or feeling that something significant is about to occur.


    </blockquote>


    Noctavia''s knuckles whitened as she clenched the wooden scrub brush, her arms tense with exertion as she attacked the blue blood stains on the cotton sheet. The skin of her hands turned vivid blue, soapy water splashing onto her dress and the grassy bank beside the river. Her golden hair tumbled over her face like a veil, as if trying to shield her from on-lookers who would see the tears that she stubbornly held back.


    Finally, with a growl of frustration, she flung the bar of soap into the river, watching it skip twice before sinking into the murky depths. She stood there on her knees, staring at the water, her hands trembling, the scrub brush falling from her grasp. Then she broke. Her shoulders shuddered, and her eyes flooded. She covered her face with her soapy, raw hands and sobbed.


    Tears escaped through her fingers, mingling with the river as if they, too, were trying to scrub away the pain. The sheet lay forgotten on the washing stone. Noctavia felt the weight of the stain as if it were a brand, searing through cloth and skin, marking her as useless¡ªthat she was not woman enough.


    "Noctavia?"


    She turned her head suddenly and saw a faerie running in her direction. Claramae was shorter than her, with little brown moth wings that complimented her hair and eyes. She wore an adorable white dress with colourful embroidery as per the Menschen tradition. Even though Claramae was a faerie and presented all the common characteristics of one, she was still a Menschen, born with blue blood instead of green. How? Nobody knew.


    "What''s wrong? Why are you sad?" asked the faerie.


    Noctavia muttered, ¡°Scheida!¡± in Menschen, "Eu mir blut!" her voice edged with bitterness.


    With a playful smile, Claramae tucked a golden strand of Noctavia''s hair behind her ear. "You know we''re all ordered not to reply to you when you speak in Menschen. You have to say it in Human."


    Exasperated, Noctavia slammed her palms onto her knees and pushed herself up to her feet. Her colourful skirt twirled around her, her blouse and intricately embroidered vest catching the sunlight in an explosion of hues. She was a striking vision¡ªher hair a cascade of pure gold, her eyes a captivating shade of blue, every bit as vibrant as her Menschen lineage promised.


    Communicating in a language that wasn''t her own frustrated her to no end, especially when everyone around her spoke her mother tongue with ease. She longed to express herself in the mellifluous cadences of Menschen, to encapsulate the nuances of her emotions without tripping over unfamiliar syntax. Yet there she stood, her words whittled down to the bare minimum as if language itself had betrayed her. Not that Noctavia didn¡¯t know how to speak human; she was as fluent as Yeso. But she didn¡¯t like it.


    Her transparent wings unfurled behind her, trailing on the ground like a queen''s cape. Barefoot, as was the custom for any Magi, she stood there¡ªimperfections none, save for the anguish that clouded her visage.


    "I¡¯m¡­ bleeding, again,''" she finally spoke in Human. "So... no baby, again."


    Claramae giggled, relieved, as she was already thinking of the worst scenario possible. She closed the distance between them and grasped Noctavia''s shoulders. "Listen, you''re a Menschen. It will happen in due time. You''ll have a child eventually. Until then... well," her cheeks flushed a rosy hue, "just enjoy the process of trying. You know¡­ o-o."


    Noctavia snorted and lightly pushed Claramae away. "Is not a joke! You can¡¯t understand. You can¡¯t¡­"


    "I think I do," Claramae retorted, bending down to pick the stubbornly stained sheet from the river''s edge. "You have an eternity ahead with Yeso. It''s not like he''s going anywhere, especially after binding both of you with that curse. Honestly, it makes me a bit envious that someone would hex themselves just to be with another. That''s quite foolish and¡­ romantic, isn''t it?"


    "Very," was Noctavia''s terse reply.


    "So don''t dwell on it. Just enjoy the journey. By the way, the others are preparing the reception of the Magis... they should arrive now at any moment. Maybe it would be good if you help, to set your mind into something other than your belly and..."


    Claramae cut herself off, rushing to gather Noctavia''s golden strands out of the way as she doubled over, retching into the river. "Oh dear, not again," she murmured sympathetically.


    Yeso and Noctavia were bound by what any sentimental romance lover would call a romantic blessed hex. Its consequences, however, were far from idyllic. Every time Yeso or Noctavia drew far from one another and then drew near, they would be struck with a violent nausea, followed by an overpowering exhaustion that rendered them immobile. Tremours and chills that would push them into the ground.


    As she stood there, trembling and gasping for air, Claramae knew that Yeso would be experiencing similar symptoms wherever he was. But for sure, he was close.


    The faerie gently patted Noctavia''s back, understanding the burden of the hex''s paradox: a spell Yeso crafted meant to bond to each other and trick fate if it ever intended to separate them.


    "There, there," Claramae soothed, "it''s almost over. Yeso must be arriving. Maybe you should go lie down until they arrive?"


    Noctavia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes heavy with fatigue but also tinged with a distant hope. If Yeso and the other Magis were indeed nearing, then perhaps they brought with them the prospect of change¡ªhope.


    Noctavia slowly rose to her feet, and her eyes still glazed over with lingering nausea. The faerie remained at her side, holding her, "I still can¡¯t believe you two went and did it¡­ hexing yourselves..."


    Claramae looked up in the air like daydreaming and spoke more to herself than to Noctavia, "You feel each other''s joys, your sorrows, your deepest fears. You''re forever bound by this invisible fate string that pulls you together. When Yeso is in pain, so are you. When he''s happy, your heart''s happier. But the same goes for sickness, for suffering. And... if something happens to one of you, the other¡ª"


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "I know," Noctavia interrupted, "If he dies, I die." She almost said those words as a welcomed blessing.


    Somewhere between the entanglement of their magic and love, Noctavia and Yeso had sown the seeds of an everlasting romance. Their love, radiant and encompassing as it was, also harboured the power to destroy them both. For as much as they were united in every conceivable way, they were also each other''s most vulnerable point¡ªtheir ultimate undoing if fate ever willed it so.


    "As much as you two are blessed," Claramae finally spoke, breaking the silence, "you''re also hexed. Love like yours, only on fairy tales."


    As she took a deep breath, steadying herself for the next wave of physical upheaval that would inevitably strike when Yeso arrived, Noctavia couldn''t help but smile as wide as she could.


    Shortly after, she weaved her way through the camp, slipping through the whirl of activity like a breeze. Her eyes caught the joy of every interaction, every bit of labour. Men laughed as they hoisted timber into place, their banter easy despite the sweat that drenched their brows. The women had their hands in motion and revelled in the preparation of dishes and delicate pastries. A group of youngsters darted around the camp, their laughter blending with the rhythmic beats of drums and the lilting melodies of flutes.


    Amid all this liveliness, Noctavia couldn''t help but feel like an outsider looking in¡ªboth part of the celebration and, apart from it, bound as she was to another seed, another destiny. She made her rounds, smiling and nodding, lending a hand here and offering a word of praise there. But it was as if she were walking through a vivid dream, one in which she was a spectator rather than a participant.


    When she reached her tent, she pushed aside the intricately woven flap and stepped inside. The moment the fabric fell back into place, sealing her off from the exuberance outside, she exhaled deeply. As if on cue, her body seemed to unravel, letting go of all the tension she''d been holding. Noctavia sank into an opulent nest of velvet pillows. Her wings, iridescent with a hint of lunar glow, folded gently around her as if they were a cocoon spun from ethereal threads.


    It didn''t take long for a rustle of fur and paws to give away the arrival of the Howling Night. With grace, the Spirit nestled his muscular frame next to hers. His thick and lavish fur was a tactile contrast to the plush pillows. Noctavia''s fingers found their way by heart behind his ear, scratching softly. In response, the wolf''s tail swayed like a metronome set to the rhythm of contentment.


    "Where is he?" Noctavia broke the lazy silence with a whisper.


    The Howling Night remained mute, his gaze deliberately evasive.


    "Howl, I asked you a question!" Her voice sharpened like a knife meeting a whetstone. Ignoring her, the wolf theatrically rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.


    Annoyed, Noctavia withdrew her touch and turned away from him. "Fine, you can pretend you don''t understand me. I can also pretend, you know. I''ll pretend I don''t see you."


    At her rebuff, the Howling Night let out a subdued yelp, his muzzle gently nudging her neck, trying to lick her cheek as an offering of truce.


    "Where is he?" She looked back, her eyes narrowing as she examined the wolf''s expressive face.


    "In the village," the Howling Night finally relented.


    Noctavia rotated fully now to lock eyes with the wolf. "Doing what?"


    The wolf hesitated. "I''d rather not say."


    An arch formed on her brow. "Really, Howl? You won''t tell your master what my own Hexe is up to?"


    With a reluctant sigh, the wolf spilt the secret. "He''s buying you a gift."


    Noctavia''s stern demeanour broke into a chuckle as she resumed her earlier position and rubbed the wolf''s exposed belly. "Who''s a good boy, then? Who?"


    The Howling Night''s tail resumed its joyful wagging, and for a moment, all was right as long his master was happy and rubbing his belly.


    Noctavia''s fingers froze midway in the wolf¡¯s fur as a distant clamour filled the air. The sound of hooves striking the earth reverberated like a drumbeat, accompanied by a chorus of voices heralding the arrival of the Magis.


    Springing to her feet, she burst through the silken flaps of her tent and found herself in a sea of faces¡ªenthusiastic settlers, curious travellers, and apprentices¡ªall meshed together in an almost impenetrable wall of bodies. She hopped up a few times, craning her neck, but could catch only fleeting glimpses of the Magi procession through the gaps between heads and shoulders.


    Exasperated, she started to weave her way through the crowd, but her petite frame was lost in the sea of people taller than she was. Just as she felt a sense of futility creeping in, Noctavia focused, closing her eyes and feeling the very fabric of her core.


    Instantly, time seemed to freeze; dust motes hung suspended in the air, breaths were captured mid-exhalation, and even the flicker of a smile paused on the faces around her. Her magic had ensnared the very weave of time.


    She turned at the sound of footsteps that broke through the eerie stillness. Each crunch seemed to echo in the silence as it grew nearer. When their eyes finally met, the moment felt like an eternity. Her eyes were pools of endless blue while his¡ªYeso''s¡ªpossessed a shade so unique it defied description.


    As soon as she saw him, Noctavia cupped her hands together, forming a shell of anticipation. Yeso chuckled softly. "I should''ve known better than to trust a wolf to keep a secret."


    Eyes closed, arms extended, Noctavia awaited her gift as if it were her divine right. Smiling indulgently, Yeso reached into the voluminous pocket of his robe and, then let several small, wrapped spheres fall into her open hands.


    Opening her eyes, she looked down at the tiny parcels, confused and intrigued. "What are these?"


    "Chocolate," Yeso replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling with an enigmatic kind of joy. Then, he reached into another pocket of his robe and begot a small flask.


    Eyebrows knitting together, Noctavia observed, "That doesn''t look like chocolate," as she started to unwrap one of the small candy parcels.


    "It''s medicine," he clarified. "That''s what took me so long to return."


    "I''m not sick," she retorted but softened the words by pressing the unwrapped chocolate against his lips. He accepted the sweet offering with a grateful bite, nibbling her fingers.


    "I know you''re not sick, but you do get cramps. You always have them around this time."


    Her cheeks flushed, ashamed. "Oh... you know."


    He chuckled. "Did you really think you could hide it from me?" Pausing for effect, he continued, "I consulted an herbalist. It''s an anti-inflammatory concoction. A few drops should do the trick."


    For a moment, she looked down, her wings folding a bit as if to shield her. "I''m sorry," she murmured.


    He reached out, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. "Why are you sorry?"


    "Because you suffered on account of me. I''m... used to the pain."


    He stepped closer, so close that their foreheads touched, his voice tinged with disbelief and concern. "You''re used to it? I spent my audience with kings feeling like I was being stabbed from the inside by an invisible imp. I had to traverse lands populated by centaurs, each step an agony, and you say you''re used to this sort of pain?"


    She met his eyes, her own widening a bit. "Uh... yes?"


    A complex emotion flickered across Yeso''s face¡ªpart exasperation, part deep affection¡ªas he took a step back. "Then it''s high time you get used to something else: not bearing it alone."


    Yeso leaned in, his lips descending toward hers. Noctavia''s gaze suddenly shifted. Her eyes landed on a young, chubby-faced individual astride a horse next to Mediah. The magnetic pull between her and Yeso broke, leaving a lingering tension in the air.


    "Who''s that?" she asked, her voice tinged with a note of concern she couldn''t fully mask.


    Yeso followed her gaze and replied, "That''s Xendrix, a human prince who wants to learn magic. Quiet the chatter."


    Noctavia kept her eyes locked on the young prince. A bitter taste surged in her mouth, a mingling of iron and blood that seemed to crawl its way up her throat. Her wings subtly tensed as if preparing for an unfathomable threat.


    Yeso sensed the change in her, the way her muscles tightened, and her eyes narrowed just so. "Is something wrong?" he ventured, studying her face for clues.


    She hesitated, then finally broke her gaze from the young prince to meet Yeso''s eyes. "I don''t know," she confessed. "But something feels... mir fado."


    <blockquote>


    "While humans approach the act of procreation with a degree of latitude, for the Menschen, the stakes are profoundly higher. Our biology permits us but a single opportunity to reproduce in our lifetime, both female and male, infusing the choice of a partner with an existential gravitas. In this context, Veilla Mageschstea, known to history as The Fallqueen, stands as an unfathomable outlier. Defying our most sacred biological edict, she bore multiple offspring, <s>each of whom, legend claims, was from two different male partners.</s> To this day, I remain confounded by this deviation. How did she circumvent a rule that binds the very fabric of our species¡ªthe Menschen?"


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0004] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Mir-Grande-Carta


    Type: Proper noun


    Translation: Great Continent


    Definition: A continent comprising the regions of Faewood, Spiyles, Keblurg, Sogrestein, Skoe Scana, Cragua, Ostesh, and Aspana. It is also referred to as ''the human land,'' indicative of its primarily human population and governance.


    </blockquote>


    The remnants of last night''s festivity were strewn about the camp like the results of a small but vibrant typhoon. A few Magis snored amid the backdrop of a disassembled stage and emptied barrels of beer. Here and there, a faerie lay tucked beneath benches now cluttered with food crumbs and dishes stained with spilt drinks.


    Inside his tent, Yeso was nestled among an indulgent pile of plush pillows. His sleep-addled brain barely registered the persistent nudging against his head. "Five more minutes, my love," he mumbled into the fabric, a sleepy grin curling his lips.


    The nudging continued unabated. With a contented sigh, he turned his face, expecting the warm touch of Noctavia¡ªonly to be met by the wet slap of a wolf''s tongue across his cheek.


    "Howl, really?" Yeso sat up and cleaned his cheek with the back of his hand. He blinked away the haze of sleep to find himself alone in the tent with the Howling Night. The wolf had laid himself out in a clear invitation, presenting his belly for a rub, tail wagging expectantly.


    "You''re the Howling Night! The very essence of the embodiment of time itself!" Yeso exclaimed in mock exasperation. "And you''re telling me you want belly rubs?¡±


    The wolf''s tail thumped against the ground, its eyes twinkling with a playful mischief.


    Yeso shook his head, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. Then, with a resigned sigh, he gave in to the creature''s simple request. As his fingers made contact with the wolf''s belly, Noctavia entered their tent.


    She returned, balancing two dishes and two mugs of clay in her arms. One was laden with an assortment of colourful fruits; the other held an item that immediately captured Yeso''s attention. The familiar, divine aroma of apple pie wafted through the air, invading his senses and making his mouth water. Yeso was a man of simple tastes, content with little. But apple pie? That was his sweet spot.


    Setting the dishes down, Noctavia took a seat beside him. Yet, Yeso''s gaze was fixated on the golden-brown crust of the freshly baked pie before him.


    "Eyes up here," Noctavia said playfully.


    His eyes reluctantly tore away from the pie to meet hers, but only for a moment before they darted back down. "That looks..." he began, but words failed him, eclipsed by his near-reverence for the pie.


    Chuckling, Noctavia slid the plate toward him. "Here," she said, handing him a fork and a mug filled with steaming tea.


    As Yeso cut into the pie and watched as the molten filling oozed out, a sense of simple joy washed over him. Yeso paused, fork in mid-air, as his joy mingled with a pang of guilt.


    Noctavia had woken early to make this pie, a labour of love, and here he was, about to savour it alone. He looked over at her as she peeled an orange, and the guilt settled in his gut like a stone dropped into a still pond.


    He picked up a small piece. and then moved it toward Noctavia''s lips.


    "What are you doing?" she asked, eyebrows arching.


    "You should be the one to taste it first," he replied.


    Noctavia sniffed at the forkful of pie and then took a bite. "Is something wrong?" she asked after savouring the flavours, "I don''t taste anything wrong."


    He cut another piece with his fork and offered it to her. "You don''t like it?" she queried, puzzled by his actions.


    "I haven''t tasted it yet, but I already love it just from the smell," he confessed.


    "Then why aren''t you eating it?"


    "Because I''m sharing what I love most with you," he said, his eyes locked onto hers.


    As she took the second bite, her eyes softened. "Eat, now! It''s all yours."


    Yeso was a study in contrasts: elegant and precise with a sword but a delightful mess when it came to enjoying his beloved apple pie. He was a messy eater. Crumbs littered his lap, and splotches of caramelized apple decorated his shirt like badges of culinary honour. Yet, the plate before him was wiped clean, unrestrained from his enthusiasm.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Noticing the contrast, Noctavia set aside her own mostly untouched plate and leaned over to him. With a tender motion, she used her thumb to wipe away a stray smudge of filling from his lips.


    "Look at you."


    "I did nothing!" Yeso grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leaned back. Seizing the moment, he gently grasped her waist and pulled her closer.


    As their lips met, Noctavia felt the soft texture and the lingering taste of pie mingled with subtle hint of lemongrass on her tongue.


    Noctavia''s lips parted. "Yeso. I''m still bleeding," she whispered, her eyes searching his for understanding as she made a subtle motion to disentangle herself from his arms.


    Rather than comply, Yeso''s arms seemed to forge a new dimension of closeness as he pulled her even nearer. The muscles in his forearms tensed, but his touch was anything but forceful¡ªalmost as if he was cradling something fragile. "If I let a mere pie leave its mark on me, I don''t see why my Hexe should be any exception," he murmured, the warmth of his words filling the empty spaces around them with the nibbling of his kisses.


    ¡°Besides, I¡¯m a warrior. I¡¯m used to some splashes.¡±


    Noctavia laughed. She felt as though her seed was laid bare, every secret and fear exposed, shared. Yet, it was his hand that sent a ripple through her, its movement slow and deliberate. His fingertips grazed her waist, pausing as if asking for silent permission she had already granted. Then, like a hesitant artist touching brush to canvas, his hand slid down the curve of her hip, eventually coming to rest at the end of her skirt.


    Yeso''s fingers slid deftly past the hem of Noctavia''s skirt, making their first contact with the warmth of her skin. The sensation seemed to ignite him from within; a soft, almost involuntary, moan escaped his lips as his fingertips pulled off her panties.


    Being a Hexe had its costs. An uninvited waltz with the darker spectrums of mortal experience: pain, sadness, sickness, anger, frustration and others. But there was another side of the coin: an untapped reservoir of sensations so intense they were unimaginable to the average creature.


    Pleasure was not simply pleasure; it was something cosmic, bordering on transcendent. It was a clear reflection from Hexe to Hexe. And under Yeso''s touch, Noctavia felt as if she were teetering on the precipice of something monumental, and he could feel it until the last detail.


    His fingers navigated the hidden, watery geography of her body. For Yeso, the tactile symphony he performed was as intuitive as it was intentional, as if he was coaxing a melody from a string only he knew how to play. Because he knew ''what'' and ''how'' he should touch, he could feel it as if in his own skin. He knew when to go slow and when not. Diving inside her, even just with his fingers, he could feel her pleasure mounting, her heart racing, the bite on her lower lip to hold her moans.


    Noctavia gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, and her wings unfolded completely, opening wide. Her breath became shallow, each exhale a whispered invitation for him to continue, to go deeper, and to not stop.


    ¡°Take your clothes off,¡± she tried to command him.


    But Yeso was not one to be told so, and not when her whole being vibrated like a taut string, the frequencies of her pleasure amplified by her Hexe nature. When suddenly, the morning light spilt through the flaps of the tent. A voice shattered their cocoon of intimacy. "Hey guys, we... is that blood?"


    As if yanked by the break of his strings, Yeso''s wings folded in an automatic reflex, partially enveloping Noctavia''s exposed form. Just as Mediah''s head poked into the tent, time froze.


    The tent fabric ceased its gentle sway, the grains of dirt outside the door hung motionless in the air, and Mediah''s expression was locked in a frame of startled curiosity. Noctavia took advantage of the stilled world to hastily redress.


    Yeso, immune to her time-stopping capabilities, sighed audibly, his eyes narrowing at the interruption. "What is he doing?" Yeso''s voice was tinged with irritation, as if Mediah had committed an unforgivable breach of privacy.


    "They need you."


    "They always need me!" he retorted, his words frustrated. "You need me too!"


    Noctavia¡¯s eyes shimmered with a cocktail of feelings¡ªregret, longing, but also a strange kind of peace. "Yes, I need Yeso, but they need their Commander. I can wait."


    His wings slowly relaxed, folding back, even though nothing about this moment felt remotely normal. With a reluctant nod, he gave the sign to Noctavia. Only then did she let the universe resume its rhythmic ticking as if winding an old clock back to life.


    Yeso turned toward Mediah. "What''s so urgent?"


    "We''ve got a situation, Commander," Mediah began, clearly oblivious to what he just interrupted. "Balenos is here."


    With a final glance at Noctavia, Yeso sighed and moved past her, stepping out of the tent and into the urgency of the now. But as he left, his fingers lightly brushed against hers¡ªa silent promise that he would be back soon.


    Upon stepping out of the tent, a member of their camp offered him his black robe. He draped it over himself, grateful for its cover, particularly over his stained shirt. But his thoughts were abruptly diverted from personal matters as he caught sight of the monumental figure waiting for him at the camp''s entrance¡ªa centaur. Not any centaur, but Balenos himself.


    The creature was an awe-inspiring blend of raw power and grace, his lower body equine and as muscular as a prize stallion. His torso was just as imposing, sculpted like a warrior''s. His face seemed almost unnaturally perfect, chiselled with features that could belong to a Spirit, and his eyes bore the focused, assessing look of a hunter.


    The centaur had come unarmed. In the complex politics of Mir-Grande-Carta, this was a gesture of peace¡ªor desperation. A plea for help, perhaps.


    "One of the kings lied," Balenos spoke when he saw Yeso, his voice deep and filled with a resounding gravity that echoed his imposing presence.


    "Either the King of Keblurg or King of Spiyles has deceived us, and it''s led to an attack on Moonbay. We are asking the Sun to burn the land! We come asking for the Commander''s power to end this, once and for all!"


    <blockquote>


    "The chapter of the Exodus, for the centaurs, was a catastrophic intersection of greed and ambition that almost wiped them from the pages of history. Keblurg and Spiyles, rival warlords kingdoms of formidable power, vied relentlessly for the possession of these noble creatures. Each recognized the centaurs as not sentient beings but as walking arsenals¡ªa confluence of physical strength. As their bitter struggle intensified, the centaurs found themselves ensnared, forced into servitude, and their numbers dwindled alarmingly. All this sacrifice to protect their biggest secret.


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0005] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Scheida


    Shy?dah


    Type: Interjection, Noun Meaning: An expletive used to express frustration, disappointment, or dismay. It carries the connotation of both "shit" and "fuck" in its emotional expressiveness.


    </blockquote>


    Yeso''s eyes flickered with suspicion as they locked onto Balenos, the centaur who had come to him desperate for help. "You''re asking me to go to war? Against who?"


    Balenos'' chest heaved, his equine half shifting restlessly. "We''re cornered, Yeso. The atrocities they''re committing against our families¡ªI can''t bear to speak it. We have nowhere else to turn."


    Yeso''s hands moved to his temples, fingertips barely touching his skin as he digested the plea. "I''ve always welcomed your people to Ormgrund. Veilla Mageschstea, our Herbstdame, herself said the centaurs could have a new home! Moonbay is a Ormsaat but¡ª"


    "Moonbay is not just a Ormsaat; it''s our homeland. It is a place of power we swore to protect!" Balenos'' voice spiked with raw intensity, silencing Yeso. "We can''t just flee. Understand that."


    Taking a deep breath, Yeso calculated his next words carefully. "I''ve been in talks with both kings. They swore peace until they reached an agreement. I''m working for Moonbay to be an independent state! If I show up with an army, it will spark chaos, not peace. I can''t jeopardise your only chance to get rid of those kings!"


    "Yeso, I''m not exaggerating when I say we''re at our wit''s end. I''m begging you, do something, Commander."


    Just then, a third voice intruded¡ªquiet but sharp enough to cut through the thick tension. "Perhaps we don''t have to fight at all." Both turned toward Mediah, the young Magi who had been standing on the periphery of their discussion unnoticed until now.


    "What are you suggesting, Magi?" Yeso shifted his gaze to Mediah, intrigued but visibly annoyed by the interruption. It was a not-so-secret talent of the young Magi to appear or to speak when less expected.


    He hesitated, choosing his words cautiously. "Well, the centaurs are praying to the Sun for relief, right? So, I thought¡ª"


    "You want to set Moonbay on fire?" Yeso snapped, irritation clouding his judgment for a moment.


    Mediah shook his head. "No, no, think about it. What if there were no Sun at all? Who could wage war in complete darkness?"


    For a moment, the atmosphere around them went silent. Yeso''s eyes revealed a flicker of something unexpected¡ªhope.


    Balenos, catching on to Mediah''s inference, let out a sigh so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of his entire tribe.


    The Commander observed Mediah up and down before locking eyes with the young halfling once more. "You''re witty."


    "Yes, I am."


    "But not so humble."


    A ripple of pride spread across Mediah''s face, brightening his eyes for a fleeting moment. "No, Commander, I¡¯m not."


    "Now go and prepare our people!"


    "Yes, Commander!" Mediah''s voice boomed as he spun on his heels and dashed out of the tent. His legs took him through the labyrinthine pathways of the encampment, dodging makeshift cooking fires and clumps of fighters whetting their blades or sharing tales of home.


    "Listen up! Listen up!" he shouted, cutting through the background noise like a sharp knife through the fruit. "Prepare your torches! Ready your oil lamps! Darkness is about to descend upon us!"


    "But we still have to clean this mess!" answered a faerie with a discontent fold of her arms.


    "Well, we''ll do it by candlelight! Commander''s orders."


    People''s heads snapped in his direction. Some warriors glanced at each other in confusion, while others hurried to obey, immediately scouring their kits for flint and fuel. Whispers filled the air, but they were overshadowed by the increasingly frenetic activity as each person prepared for the unknown strategy about to unfold.


    Balenos paced restlessly, his hooves thudding softly against the earth. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with hesitant optimism. "If the boy''s plan works, it could save us from having to shed more blood, at least for now."


    "Yes," Yeso murmured, his eyes capturing the warm glow that dotted the encampment like stars in a twilight sky. A young boy, no older than ten falls, approached Balenos cautiously, extending a lit torch toward him.


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    "You''ll need this for your return."


    Balenos looked at the boy, then at Yeso. "I would prefer to stay and watch, if I may."


    Without a word, Yeso turned and began to walk, his bare feet leaving subtle imprints on the earth as he made his way through the camp. He could feel the eyes of his people, Menschen and fae alike, following him, drawn to him like moths to a flame.


    When he reached the centre of the settlement, the silence prompted those around him to kneel. They lowered their heads, assuming a posture that resembled prayer, even though Menschen didn''t worship gods or believe in some omnipotent forces governing the cosmos.


    Menschen were a people who believed in Spirits. Viewing them as custodians of the world''s equilibrium and architects of fate¡ªwhether that be for better or worse. The greater the Spirit, the more whimsical and unpredictable it was supposed to be.


    Yeso harboured the most powerful Spirit any Magi could possess: the Sun itself. It wasn''t just an astral body illuminating the sky; it was a living entity. Brimming with life and energy, it coursed through his veins, granting him abilities that others could only dream of¡ªthe Golden Dragon.


    Yet, it was not a gift without its burdens, especially when lives hung in the balance; he could feel the very Spirit within him yearning for balance or chaos in a world teetering on the edge of war and blood.


    The Sun Spirit was not just an ally; it was a reflection of Yeso''s own emotional landscape. To master it, he had to master himself. Emotions like rage, wrath, jealousy, or even the agony of loss could unlock a torrent of energy so cataclysmic it threatened not just those around him but perhaps even the world itself. This was not hyperbole; it was a grim reality he had to navigate every waking moment.


    Menschen, all around the map, would often say, ¡°When the Golden Dragon¡¯s Master is happy, it tastes like warmth and honey. When it is sad, the sky is rainy and gloomy, and if it is mad, thunders are angry and loud they shout.¡±


    Taking a deep breath, Yeso raised his arms, palms facing upwards. A ripple of murmured incantations began among the Menschen, their words barely louder than a whisper but resonant with collective focus.


    Ra mir land, wasser e luft. Ra mir land, wasser e luft. Ra mir land, wasser e luft.


    "The Sun which burns land, sea and sky," were the words his people whispered. The murmur didn¡¯t say much but felt like a soft lullaby.


    Yeso closed his eyes and felt the energy of the Sun Spirit churn within his core. Like he nestled a whole solar system deep inside him as if stirred by the devotion of his people. His skin ripped with golden veins of light, and for a brief moment, it felt as though he could touch the very fabric of the cosmos and release it¡¯s full power like a hex that could devastate the reality as we know.


    When he raised his eyes, she, Noctavia, was standing in front of him. Bringing him peace, serenity and love. Exactly the pillar of reality he needed.


    Then the release.


    A shadow swept across the camp like a dark tide, plunging the area into an impenetrable darkness. There were gasps, then an immediate, hushed awe. Even Balenos, who had never witnessed the Sun Spirit''s power being wielded in such a manner, stood frozen, captivated by the spectacle.


    It was as if the night itself held its breath, waiting for what would come next.


    "In darkness, we hope to find our true selves," Yeso spoke softly, his words cutting through the black void. "Prepare yourselves. Tonight, we''ll see whether the Moonbay''s foe can say the same."


    Balenos approached him, his hooves making soft sounds against the ground. "Do you think it will work?" The Centaur''s voice was just above a hush, a slight tremor betraying his anxiety. "The darkness, I mean. Do you think it will bring us the advantage we seek?"


    "Yes," Yeso said, "There isn''t a greater fear than the unknown you can''t see."


    Just then, he felt a lightweight lean against his back, arms wrapping gently around his torso. The touch was like a balm to his seed. It was Noctavia''s gentle touch, her very presence that pulled him into a state of calm.


    He rested his hand atop hers, his grip gentle yet firm. "Go home, Balenos. Send me word when they leave Moonbay."


    The centaur nodded, his eyes meeting Yeso''s in a moment of shared understanding. With that, Balenos turned and galloped away, hooves thundering briefly before the sound faded into the distance. Around them, the encampment seemed to glow back to life, mages and settlers resuming their tasks as if the Sun had never left the sky.


    "You need to rest," Noctavia whispered, her warm breath tickling the nape of his neck.


    "I''m scared, my love," Yeso confessed with a vulnerability he seldom allowed himself to show.


    "I know," she replied softly, her arms tightening their embrace around him. "But you''re doing good."


    "What would happen if I lose control?" His question was almost a murmur, a shadow of a thought that had always lurked in the corners of his mind.


    "You won''t," she assured him, her lips grazing his ear as she spoke, "because you''re not alone."


    At that moment, with Noctavia''s arms around him, Yeso felt the weight of his responsibilities ease, if only just a little. Here, enveloped in darkness yet surrounded by those he loved and led, he found his fulcrum, the delicate balance between the devastating power he wielded and the emotional poise he perpetually sought.


    In the persistent darkness that would lift only when Moonbay found its peace, Yeso''s eyes caught the silhouette of young Prince Xendrix navigating through the shadowy labyrinth of the camp without any light to guide him.


    The sight of the prince, a cypher shrouded in uncertainty, stirred a primal unease within Yeso. Yes, the unknown was a haunting spectre, its tendrils reaching out from the shadows, grasping for a hold of one''s courage.


    "Soon, we will have our settlement full of spiders," Noctavia''s voice broke into his thoughts. "Veilla is not going to let this go easily."


    "I can handle Veilla," Yeso replied, though the statement seemed more an assertion for his own benefit than a guarantee.


    "What worries you then?" Noctavia inquired, her arms still wrapped around him as if she could shield him from his own uncertainties.


    "I''ve got this feeling I can''t¡­" He paused, searching for the right words, finding only fragments of thoughts.


    "Mir fado," Noctavia finished for him, invoking the old Menschen expression meaning ''ill omen.''


    "Jim," Yeso agreed. ¡°Scheida!¡±


    <blockquote>


    "In a perpetual twilight, I have grown up pondering a world I have never seen¡ªa world of sunsets and moonlit nights. <s>This celestial absence is, ironically, the legacy of my own parents. When my father, Yeso Sternacht, passed away, it was like he took the sun with him, shrouding us in the Long Night. My mother followed him and left the sky bereft of moons and stars. I believe they did not choose this darkness as their legacy; it resulted from ''mir fado''. At young age, I could only wonder: What did the world look like bathed in sunlight?"</s>


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0006] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    True mastery is less about the magnitude of your power and more about the control you exert over it." ¡ª Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>


    Another day eclipsed without the return of the Sun, its usual brilliance supplanted by a meagre parade of stars and the ethereal glow of the nine moons. They made a feeble attempt to shine, yet their combined light fell far short of replicating daytime brightness. Nevertheless, the settlement hummed back to life, each person resuming their assigned duties as though the day were as bright as any other.


    Faeries bent over washboards, scrubbing clothes along the riverbanks. Nearby, men and women huddled around open fires, stirring pots of simmering stew, its aroma mingling with the dusky air, as hunger began to set in among the people. In a secluded corner, Magis were mentoring the younger folk in the intricacies of the Trial of Elements. No hands were weaving the air with chanted incantations; their lessons were purely on the theory of Elements and how they combine.


    Lost in this hive of activity was Prince Xendrix, leaning against the rough bark of a tree. His eyes scan the dark landscape, with dots of lights moving around before him. It wasn''t the first time he felt forgotten, and it likely wouldn''t be the last.


    As he lingered in his chosen shadow, his eyes picked up a movement that disrupted the otherwise seamless flow of the camp''s routine. A young woman paced in a small area, her eyes darting across the grass and stones, a look of concentration furrowing her brow. In her hand, she held an oil lamp, its feeble light casting an intimate circle around her.


    She¡ªUlencia¡ªwas pretty, and that was enough to pique Xendrix¡¯s curiosity, tugging him away from his self-imposed isolation. The woman seemed distressed, her every step and glance tinged with an urgency that intrigued him. Casting one last look at the humming camp around him¡ªpeople who would hardly notice his absence¡ªhe pushed off the tree and approached the young woman.


    As he drew closer, he could see her frustration mounting. Each sweep of her lamp seemed to heighten her anxiety rather than relieve it.


    "May I be of assistance?" Xendrix finally broke the silence.


    The young woman looked up, with a startled scream escaping her lips before she could contain it.


    "I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to scare you!" Xendrix blurted out, taking a step back, his hands held up disarmingly.


    "Oh!" she exclaimed, her hand clutching her chest. "I felt my heart trying to bolt out of me!" She stood as a beacon of soft light, her oil lamp casting tremulous golden hues that danced on her face. Its dim glow accentuated the strawberry-blond strands of her hair, illuminating them with a coppery radiance.


    Her blue eyes reflected an innocence etched on her face, a purity in the set of her mouth and the tilt of her eyebrows that lent her an almost ethereal quality. The darkness seemed to recede around her as if afraid to taint her radiant presence.


    "I''m really sorry," Xendrix said again, his face flushed with embarrassment.


    "No, no, don''t worry about it. It''s my fault I didn''t see you there," she replied, her voice still trembling a bit but regaining its composure.


    "In this light, that''s hardly surprising," Xendrix said, a slight smile breaking the tension as their eyes met. "I''m Xendrix, by the way," he added, extending his hand, only for the gesture to be ignored.


    "Oh, the prince who wants to learn alchemy," she mused as if savouring an inside joke.


    "Yeah, that would be me," Xendrix replied, somewhat self-conscious.


    "Have you started your Trial yet?"


    "Trial? I wasn''t aware there was a Trial involved."


    The girl chuckled. "You''ll come to understand in due time."


    "Well, nobody has taken me under their wing for any lessons yet," Xendrix admitted with a subtle impatience woven through his words.


    Ulencia sighed, her eyes momentarily drifting as if lost in thought. "Things have been... complicated. But if I were to make a guess, it''d be on Magi Jear initiating you into the craft. I can''t think of anyone better suited to introduce you to the complexities of alchemy. Albeit," she paused, meeting his eyes again, "it''s somewhat useless for Menschen.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡±


    "Oh, and I¡¯m Ulencia," she responded, taking his hand with a grip that was both gentle and firm. "And sorry, that must have seemed so rude of me, almost yelling directly into your ears."


    For a moment, both stood in the light of Ulencia''s oil lamp, their eyes locked in an embrace of foreseen connection. Xendrix felt the spark of something enticing. Something familiar. "What are you looking for? Maybe I can help."


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    Ulencia let out a nervous laugh, her eyes momentarily darting to the ground before meeting his again. "Spiders."


    "Spiders?" Xendrix raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.


    "Yes, spiders. I was tasked to see if any little crawlers had infiltrated our camp. If they have, well, let''s just say it would be a prelude to a grave knock on our doors¡ªa very, very unhappy Dame," she explained, her lips curling into a wry smirk.


    "I''m not sure I follow," Xendrix admitted, squatting down beside her to scrutinize the ground for any sign of the eight-legged invaders.


    "You''re a human, aren''t you?" Ulencia asked, scanning the area around them.


    "Yes. And you? Are you Menschen?"


    She chuckled, a soft, mellifluous sound that seemed to infuse the surrounding darkness with a touch of levity. "No, I''m just a halfling with pretty blood colour."


    "No magic?"


    Ulencia shifted her posture slightly, crossing her arms over her knees, before locking eyes with him. "I possess as much magic as you do."


    "I came here to learn," Xendrix shared. ¡°I guess I would leave with some, even a tiny bit of it.¡±


    "Learning magic is as hard as finding a spider in the dark," Ulencia retorted with both humour and a hint of something more weighty.


    "Why spiders, though?" Xendrix asked.


    She fixed him with a stern gaze, her tone striking a chord in him. ¡°Do you know our dame?¡±


    "Queen, you mean?"


    Ulencia clicked her tongue, a soft, chastising sound. "She is not a queen. She is the ruler over all."


    "Ruler over everything?"


    Ulencia''s eyes flickered, animated by a fervour that seemed almost religious. "Veilla Mageschstea, our Herbstdame¡ªshe''s also known as The Harvester, the Ruler of the Fall, The Spiderqueen! She brings prosperity to us all. Crops to pick, fish to pluck from the river, winds to scatter seeds across the fields. You cannot overlook her magnificence."


    Xendrix paused, contemplating Ulencia''s description. "It sounds as though you''re speaking of a god."


    "She is just different," Ulencia clarified, her voice softening a bit. "Different like the Commander."


    "Different?"


    A new voice cut through the still air. "She means there are two types of magic holders."


    Xendrix and Ulencia swivelled their heads as they found Mediah emerging from the darkness. He crouched down, locking his eyes onto theirs.


    "There are two kinds of Magi when it comes to handling magic," Mediah began, his words punctuated by the slight movements of his hands as if shaping the very thoughts he spoke of. "The more common type is the Syphon¡ªMages who draw upon the magic of an element they have an affinity with. Imagine a water mage; they might channel energy from lakes, rain, and even tears. But then you have the rarities. Those who are born with their own inner core, or seed as we call it, of magic. Picture it like an eternal flame, feeding off itself, never extinguishing."


    Xendrix studied Mediah, his gaze switching between the young mage and Ulencia.


    "So, you''re saying the majority of Magi act as conduits, borrowing from the world around them," Xendrix said, miming a pulling gesture as if he were drawing power into himself.


    ¡±Yes, but only the elements they resonate with.¡±


    Xendrix nodded. "Yet there exists a smaller group, almost self-sustaining¡ªgenerators of their own magic. They''re free from the dependency on external sources, is that right?"


    Mediah tilted his head, agreeing, and his face brightened with a pleased nod. "You''ve grasped it well! These self-sufficient mages have a pull, almost like a magnet, that attracts Spirits. They form alliances and partnerships, but mostly, those mages become the Master. It''s why many rise to be leaders among us¡ªwhether you call them Magi, Dames, Rames or Commanders."


    Ulencia leaned forward, her eyes catching the warm dance of the nearby oil lamp''s glow. "That''s what sets Veilla apart. She''s not just a ruler; she''s a Herbstdame¡ªa mage with an alliance with a Spirit of Spiders, the weavers of shadows, granting her capacities and insights beyond the ordinary. She stands in the same light as Yeso does with the Sun."


    Looking at Mediah, who seemed as common as Ulencia, Xendrix''s curiosity finally got the better of him. "What about you, Mediah? Where do you stand on this continuum of magical existence?"


    Mediah smirked, a blend of modesty and mischief playing across his face. "That''s a rather private matter, don''t you think?"


    Ulencia''s eyes momentarily veered towards the ground. It was only when Mediah gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear that she looked up, her gaze meeting his in a silent conversation. "Are you still up for tonight?"


    Mediah''s voice took on an uncharacteristic softness. "Are you sure?"


    "I am if you are," she replied, her voice carrying the trace of a promise.


    His eyebrows arched slightly. "Oh, you mean like now?"


    ¡°Did you ask anyone else?¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    With a nonchalant shrug, Ulencia turned her eyes toward Xendrix. "It was very nice to meet you, Xendrix." Rising, she felt Mediah''s arm slide effortlessly around her waist. Their forms melded into the encroaching shadows, leaving Xendrix alone.


    For a moment, Xendrix lingered with a sensation gnawed at him, a splinter of annoyance wedging itself into his thoughts.


    His eyes went downward, and he caught sight of a black spider leisurely making its way beside his foot. With a sudden, almost reflexive burst of irritation, he lifted his foot and brought it down hard, crushing the small creature beneath his heel.


    ¡°One¡­¡±


    <blockquote>


    "The Incubus has long been regarded with a mixture of fascination and disdain. Known primarily as siphoners of emotion, they''ve gained an unsavoury reputation for exploiting the most intimate interactions¡ªsex¡ªas a conduit for gathering magical energy. Among all classes of Mages, they are often deemed the least reputable, relegated to the darker corners of our collective consciousness.


    Yet, exceptions define every rule, and for me, that exception was Magi Mediah. Far from a mere manipulator of emotions, Mediah possessed a talent for magic that transcended the limited scope of his kind. His service to three different Dames¡ªa rarity in itself¡ªtestified to his unparalleled skill and loyalty. As <s>my Hexe¡¯s</s> mentor, he didn''t merely teach <s>her</s> incantations and magical theory. He imparted the subtleties of the ethical use of magic, the nuances that distinguish mere power from true greatness. It''s easy to categorize and condemn based on the worst examples, but figures like Mediah compel us to reevaluate such prejudices.


    For me, personally, I only meet the man once. I wished I had more time to know him."


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0007] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Saatgut


    Type: Noun


    Translation: Soulseed / Seed


    Definition: In Menschen, "saatgut" refers to a seed that embodies a creature''s soul or magic. It is akin to a cocoon, preserving and sustaining the individual''s essence and magic. The concept of "saatgut" is deeply rooted in the spiritual and life-giving forces of nature within the Menschen culture. It is often associated with rebirth, legacy, and the perpetuation of life''s magical elements. Some believe it has the shape of a butterfly that would fly out of a creature''s mouth and search for a new vessel to reincarnate.


    </blockquote>


    Nearly a moon had passed, travelling across the night sky but never illuminating Moonbay as it once had. The settlement was shrouded still in an eerie darkness. Nevertheless, the settlers found it increasingly burdensome to navigate their daily life in this endless dark. But none complained. No words of discontentment reached their lips, especially in the presence of any Magi and certainly not before Commander Yeso. To grumble about it would be to undermine the purpose of the spell: a dark coat of night to prevent further bloodshed.


    Yeso was visibly frayed. Containing his magic, preventing its volatile release, was a taxing ordeal. It gnawed at him like a storm cloud seeking release. His people, empathetic to his plight, rallied around him, aiming to cushion the weight of his responsibilities. They cooked for him, managed affairs in his stead, and ensured he could rest whenever possible. Noctavia was especially vigilant about protecting his state of mind.


    Though the cushions and pillows were meticulously arranged, Yeso couldn¡¯t find a way to feel comfortable and at ease in their embrace. "Has any centaur arrived with the news?" Yeso asked, bored.


    Noctavia, who sat beside him, continued her intricate embroidery on his robe. "Rest," she gently rebuked while her eyes, despite his question, didn¡¯t leave their focus on her needlework.


    "Did any?" The urgency in his voice made it clear he wasn''t about to drop the subject.


    Setting down her needle, she exhaled a measured breath. "If there had been news, you would be the first to know, Yeso."


    "So, nothing then?"


    A rueful half-smile creased her lips. "No, not yet, Commander."


    "Don''t call me that; I hate it!" He shifted his position, coming to sit beside her. "I don''t give you permission to call me by my title. Actually, you are forbidden to do so!"


    The corners of her mouth curled into a playful smirk. "Oh? Do you have another preference, then?"


    "My love, my heart, my everything, my..." His finger playfully tapped his lips as if mulling over an endless list of affectionate names.


    "You should rest, my love, my heart, my everything and something else¡­ I can¡¯t remember for now." Noctavia softly echoed back with tender humour.


    "Ah, see? Doesn''t that sound better?" His hand reached out to graze her cheek, drawing her face closer to his. Their lips met in a brief, sweet kiss that, for a heartbeat, seemed to mute the world''s pressing demands. "You know since I''m already bound to the bed, and you are here, maybe we could..."


    "No," she interrupted, pulling back just enough to fix him with a look that mingled with amusement. "Rest. That''s an order."


    "But how are we supposed to make a baby if we don''t..." His voice trailed off, an impish grin overtaking his features. "Don''t you want a tiny Commander?"


    "We''ll wait."


    "Are you rejecting me?"


    "I am not rejecting you. You are walking around with a burning sun sealed within! What if you enjoy yourself too much?" Noctavia retorted, holding her laugh.


    Frustrated yet drained, Yeso rolled away from her, his back facing the intimacy he couldn''t fully embrace. Yes, he was bored. It irked him to be treated as if he were some fragile, bedridden patient. But before he could sink further into his thoughts, he heard the soft rustling of fabric.


    The next moment, he felt Noctavia''s warm skin pressing against his shirt, her body curled into his back. "If I see one single golden vein, I''ll stop, understood?"


    Spurred by her words, Yeso abruptly turned to face her, his arms capturing her in a fiery embrace. His lips found hers, showering her with a series of hurried, breath-stealing kisses. As their mouths danced, there were no golden veins to be seen¡ªsigns that his constrained magic was leaking¡ªbut the atmosphere within the tent shifted, charged with a magical exuberance that transformed it.


    Golden lilies materialized, their petals unfurling like tiny bursts of contained sunlight, painting the tent''s drab interior with a poetic feeling of happiness.


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    She chuckled softly, the sound a light melody that footed through the tension in the air. If anyone passing by didn''t know what they were about to accomplish, now they knew. Everyone knew what made the Commander happy. Well, at least one of the things that made the Commander happy.


    Now lying beside her, he yearned for the touch of her skin against his, for the taste of her lips that he had come to crave. He wanted to drown in her, to let the world outside¡ªwith its insatiable appetite for war and violence¡ªfade away, even if just for a stolen moment.


    Yeso''s eyes met hers, and something unspoken passed between them, something only Hexes could understand. The tent seemed to hum with a quiet intensity.


    Laughter ebbed, making room for deeper, primal sounds.


    Soft moans replaced their giggles, filling the air with a luscious echo. Words were no longer needed; they''d made promises to each other time and again¡ªvows of love, pledges of forever¡ªthat had never grown stale.


    His hands found their way to the small of her back, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her pelvis fitting in his, letting him in. In that closeness, even their breaths seemed to merge, each inhale and every exhale.


    Her legs were wrapped around him as he sought solace in an intimacy as vital as the oxygen filling his lungs. His chest pressed against hers, the contours of their bodies aligned like puzzle pieces, finally finding their match.


    It was an alchemical reaction between them, each touch amplified, a closed circuit of desire and longing. His fingers traced the curve of her breast, and he felt a similar sensation tickle his own chest.


    When she let out a soft moan, it reverberated in his very seed, sending ripples of pleasure through his body as if her voice had touched him physically.


    The sensation was intoxicating, consuming¡ªtwo Hexes entwined in a spell of their own making. When their own seed met, he knew they were on the precipice, standing at the edge of a moment that defied definition¡ªthe point of release, where they didn''t care who could hear them or who could see the golden lilies sprouting out the tent.


    "Oh, wow," Noctavia finally breathed.


    For Yeso, time slowed. He poised his head over her chest, which was still racing. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in this love, to savour everything that had become as vital to him as the air he breathed. And yet, he felt at a loss to give her everything she deserved and something more, something that neither magic nor title could provide. A child¡ªa legacy, a future. But also to prove that his hex was real and that it worked.


    After all, he had also hexed her children and the children of her children. If they were not able to conceive, he would have imprisoned Noctavia for nothing, and he would not forgive himself for his selfishness.


    Golden lilies adorned the inside of the tent like a celestial garden, their petals scattered in Yeso''s hair as if blessed by his own happiness. The soft glow of moonlight sifted through the fabric walls, casting ethereal patterns on his face. But the tranquil atmosphere shattered as the sound of hooves pounding the earth and the distant murmur of voices broke the serenity.


    Noctavia jolted awake, her eyes flitting open like a startled fawn. "What''s happening?"


    "I don''t know," Yeso said as he leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. He snatched his robe from a nearby chair, throwing it over his shoulders. "Stay here. It might be the centaurs coming back."


    "No," Noctavia retorted. She shrugged off the bedsheets and pulled on her skirt and blouse with swift, fluid motions. "I''m coming with you."


    They exited the tent, and a figure on horseback approached, clothed in the unmistakable colours of Keblurg¡ªcrimson and gold. The flag bearing the kingdom''s emblem, a golden centaur, fluttered in the night breeze.


    Yeso squared his shoulders, maintaining a composed, almost regal demeanour as he strode toward the emissary.


    "Commander Yeso Sternacht?" The emissary''s voice was crisp and formal.


    "Yes, that''s me," Yeso confirmed, locking eyes with the man.


    "You are hereby summoned to the court of King Ieagan Kaspian!"


    Noctavia gripped Yeso''s arm tightly, her eyes searching his face for a hint of what he was thinking. But one thing was sure: the summon only added weight to his situation.


    "What could the king want?" Noctavia whispered into Yeso¡¯s ear.


    The emissary''s face lost its formal veneer, morphing into an expression that betrayed his underlying fear. "I believe it has something to do with this night that''s lasted longer than a moon. Everyone is scared, Commander. I... my family... friends, we are all scared."


    Yeso''s brows furrowed, concern etched into the lines of his face. "What of Moonbay? Are they still fighting there?"


    "The soldiers have been pushed to the outskirts of Moonbay, but¡ª" The emissary hesitated, clearly reluctant to elaborate.


    "There''s no but¡ªI won''t¡ª" Yeso began, the edge in his voice hardening like forged steel.


    The emissary cut him off, "King Orlan of Spiyles will be in attendance, as will a centaur named Balenos."


    A soft whisper brushed Yeso''s ear as Noctavia leaned in close. "That could be a good sign, don''t you think?"


    With his eyes locked onto the emissary¡¯s, Yeso made a premeditated choice of words, with the subtext as sharp as a dagger¡¯s edge. "Tell your King I will attend¡ªwith my Hexe and his son, who remains under my wardenship." Then he made an intentional pause. ¡°In case he forgot.¡±


    The emissary, grasping the hidden weight of Yeso''s words, simply nodded. "Very well, Commander. I will relay your message as you''ve instructed."


    As an afterthought, Yeso added, "And remind him," his voice dropping to a growl imbued with latent power, "that I am still the Sun who burns over land, sea, and sky!"


    The emissary recoiled as if the words had singed him. "Of course, Commander," he stammered before turning his horse around.


    Yeso focus his attention back to Noctavia, her fingers still wrapped around his in a tight, reassuring grip. Her eyes met his, a sea of emotion¡ªlove, anxiety, unspoken questions¡ªswirling in their depths. He squeezed her hand in return, a silent vow passing between them.


    "So, I''m coming with you this time?"


    "Yes," Yeso responded, his eyes still locked onto hers as if seeking his haven. "I don''t trust myself to go alone this time. I''m starting to get tired of all this human nonsense."


    Her lips curled into a subtle, understanding smile. She recognized the weariness in his voice, the frayed edges of his patience that had been stretched and tested by political machinations and ceaseless battles.


    "Me too," she said, "We all are."


    <blockquote>


    "The Masters of Sun Spirit are a breathtaking rarity, their own bodies a self-generator of magic. Yet, their exceptional nature carries the potential for disaster; losing control could lead to catastrophic planetary consequences for all. To contain their own magic, they require a daily intake of at least 5,000 calories¡ªa vital equilibrium, not a luxury. In this, they embody a crucial principle: true mastery is less about the magnitude of your power and more about the control you exert over it."


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0008] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Gut


    Type: Adjective


    Translation: Good, well


    Definition: An adjective used to describe something positive or satisfactory. It is also used as a suffix in compound words to denote positive qualities, such as well-being, goodness, or suitability.


    </blockquote>


    Xendrix, Yeso and Noctavia rode from the outskirts of Keblurg to the opulent halls of King Ieagan''s castle. The journey spanned five arduous days by horse, not accounting for the essential pit stops for resupply and rest. Xendrix was oddly quiet for Noctavia¡¯s taste, he had just utter a few words along this days. It was somehow out of his character.


    Noctavia and Yeso would expect him to make questions like¡ªwhy had he been summoned back to his father''s stronghold? Was his training in alchemy over before it had even truly begun? Or had it started without him even realizing it? No question, just silence.


    He''d attended a few classes on elemental trials, mingling with the Magis, who could summon fire from their palms or stir a gust of wind with a mere flick of their fingers.


    From what Mediah shared with them, he''d learned the theory and practices that differentiated Siphoners from Spirit Masters. He had listened to aged wise men''s discussions and explanations of their rituals, like the tradition of walking barefoot to commune more closely with the elements or wearing black robes to erase distinctions of race, lineage, and magical prowess.


    As the continuous nightfall cast its inky shroud over their temporary short campsite, the trio sat in a rough circle around the flickering fire. Yeso methodically poked at the glowing embers with a stick, each movement sending up a swirl of orange sparks. Noctavia, meanwhile, sprinkled an assortment of foraged herbs over a rabbit that sizzled on a spit, filling the air with an earthy aroma.


    "Tomorrow, we should reach Keblurg," Yeso finally said, breaking the quiet that had settled around them like a dense fog.


    Xendrix looked up, his face a mask of frustration. "Did I do something wrong?"


    The question that Yeso and Noctavia were expecting was finally spoken. He glanced at Xendrix, his eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the words. "Why would you ask that?"


    "Why would you return me to my father?" Xendrix blurted out with bitterness.


    "I''m not returning you," Yeso said, locking eyes with the young man.


    "I-I... I don''t understand," Xendrix stammered, his brows furrowing in confusion.


    "I''m using you as leverage," Yeso admitted, blunt as a hammer.


    Xendrix laughed, a hollow sound devoid of mirth. "That''s a stupid move. My father couldn''t care less about me. I''m shit in his eyes."


    "Maybe," Yeso conceded, "but you''re still his heir. Kings are expected to have castles; they''re also expected to have heirs. And I have reason to believe your father isn''t capable of producing another... ever. At least not with his own dick."


    Xendrix''s laugh was short, and a tense silence settled again over the camp, thicker than the smoke drifting from the fire.


    "And what if it doesn''t work?" Xendrix finally asked.


    "Then you die," Yeso responded, devoid of empathy and laden with a brutal sincerity that left no room for misunderstanding.


    "What if I live?"


    "Then you''ll return with us and become an alchemist," Yeso answered, probing the rabbit with a stick to check its doneness. "I keep my promises; let''s hope your father does too."


    Xendrix turned his gaze toward Noctavia,who remained silent throughout the exchange. "Why doesn''t she talk?"


    "She doesn''t like to speak human," Yeso said, slicing into the cooked meat with a copper dagger he''d unhooked from his belt.


    "Why?"


    "You''ll need to learn Menschen to ask her yourself," Yeso quipped, offering a mischievous smile.


    "Is it difficult to learn?"


    "As difficult as it is for us to learn human," Yeso responded, tearing off a piece of rabbit and handing it to Xendrix.


    "But you speak it fluently," Xendrix observed.


    "I didn''t have a choice," Yeso replied, taking a moment to savour a bite of the herb-seasoned rabbit.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "What do you mean?"


    "Words are as powerful as swords," Yeso began, his eyes meeting Xendrix''s as if passing along a sacred truth. "I had to learn to wield a sword just as I had to learn to wield words. In this world, they''re both tools of survival and influence. If you don''t master them, they''ll master you."


    "How old are you? You talk like an old hermit."


    The question prompted laughter from both Yeso and Noctavia, as if it had unlocked some private joke between them.


    Finally, Yeso looked at Xendrix. "I stopped counting the falls a long time ago. Honestly, I''m not even sure if I was born before or after the Fall started."


    Xendrix''s eyes fluttered open to find that the morning was still dark as night. A persistent velvet cloak of the night that had settled one moon ago. He could hear the distant chirping of crickets intermingling with the soft hissing of embers from the dying fire.


    A few feet away, Noctavia and Yeso lay entangled in each other''s arms. Even the horses, tethered to a nearby tree, seemed at ease, their occasional neighs breaking the predawn quietude.


    Xendrix lay there for a few more minutes, trying to absorb the moment of peace. The cold air against his face and the scent of pine and eucalyptus. Yet, even the chill couldn''t help him determine the exact time. Was it an hour past midnight, or were they closer to dawn? But he was hungry, so probably breakfast time.


    Just then, he felt something¡ªsomething crawling up his hand. Startled, Xendrix tried to shake it off. Still, the persistent pinprick sensation continued, creeping up his wrist and making its way toward his neck. With a quick motion, as quietly as he could manage, he sat up and began swatting at his clothes, his skin, his face. Finally, an eight-legged crawler tumbled onto his lap, its legs flexing as if ready to bolt.


    In an instant, devoid of any consideration for the creature, Xendrix''s palm came down hard. The sound of the slap echoed like a gunshot in the quiet, and when he lifted his hand, he saw the spider¡ªnow in two pieces. Half of it was squashed into the earth, its bodily fluids seeping into the ground; the other half clung to his palm, a grim trophy of the skirmish.


    ¡°Eight¡­¡± he mumbled. This was Xendrix''s dirty little secret. He killed another spider.


    The trio finally approached the imposing gates of King Ieagan Kaspian''s castle, and Yeso immediately sensed a change in the atmosphere. The stone walls, usually austere, were teeming with guards¡ªmore than he''d seen the last time he visited.


    The castle windows were festooned with flags, so many that it almost looked like preparations were underway for some grand celebration. Yet Yeso knew better; this was most likely going to be another theatrical display of court politics and intrigue, and he had neither the patience nor the stomach for it. But it was what it was.


    "Tu wie mir plano es?" Noctavia whispered in Menschen as she walked beside him. Her eyes, pools of blue prepared ruse, searched his face. ''Do you have a plan?''


    In response, Yeso allowed his gaze to sweep the surrounding landscape as if hoping to find an answer hidden among the crenelated walls or in the wary eyes of the guards. Finally, he replied with a question of his own: "Tu was gut es?" ''What do you recommend?''


    Noctavia''s lips curled into a half-smirk, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous spark. "Zeit," she said. ''Time.''


    Yeso couldn''t help but smile back. She was right, of course. Whatever game was about to be played out in the King''s court, they had time on their side to navigate it. Humans had an insatiable appetite for drama, and drama took time to unfold¡ªtime they could use to their advantage.


    As the gates creaked open before them, welcoming them into yet another arena of human complications, Yeso took a deep breath. Time, after all, was the one thing they both understood better than these mere mortals.


    "Es mir ves wieder gut tu."


    Xendrix, walking behind them and clearly tired of being excluded from their intimate exchanges, finally broke his silence. "What does it mean?" he asked, irritated.


    Yeso turned to look at him, his eyes meeting Xendrix''s in a manner that seemed to weigh the young man''s entire being. "She said everything will be alright."


    The opulence of the throne room was dizzying, but what struck Yeso, Noctavia, and Xendrix as they entered was not the gold-leafed and red columns or the jewel-encrusted tapestries. It was the room''s atmosphere¡ªthick as molasses, filled to the brim with envoys and representatives from every corner of the map.


    Balenos from Moonbay and the King of Syilis were both present, flanked by their entourages. The room pulsated with the sound of guards'' armour clinking, voices mingling like pure chaos, and the ghostly whispers of wind slipping through cracks in the stone walls. Underneath it all, footsteps seemed to tap out an anxious beat on the stone floor.


    With a sidelong glance and a subtle nod to Noctavia, Yeso waited for his Hexe to conjure the eerie silence that descended upon the room. It was as quiet and profound as the void¡ª silence that seemed to absorb sound itself. The halted time was their unique weapon of choice.


    Leaving Xendrix immobilized in his tracks¡ªlike a statue cursed to eternal stillness¡ªthey started to scan the room.


    "Everyone''s armed," Noctavia whispered, her eyes narrowing at the blades and spears that seemed to bristle from every corner.


    "Odd choice for a peace talk," Yeso replied, strolling around the perimeter, his own fingers tingling near the hilt of his sword.


    As Noctavia approached the dais where the throne sat, she noticed King Ieagan with his elbow propped up on the armrest, clutching papers that bore the unmistakable seal of diplomacy. "Look," she gestured discreetly, "They do have a peace treaty on hand."


    Yeso circled back to join her, casting a wary eye over the assembled guests. "I''ve never attended a council of peace where so many guards are ready to draw blood at a moment''s notice," he grumbled.


    A mischievous glint appeared in Noctavia''s eyes. "Why don''t we turn the tables? Scare them before they get a chance to scare us."


    Yeso grinned, realizing the room had yet to awaken from the silence she''d cast. "Why not? After all, it''s not every day you get to turn a den of wolves into a gathering of sheep."


    "This is going to be fun."


    <blockquote>


    <s>"Zonnestra Sternacht, my mother, was a study in contrasts. In the eyes of our tribe, she was an unassuming Menschen woman, a tailor of such remarkable skill that her name endures in hushed tones and reverent anecdotes. Yet, she was also a Hexe to my father, yet known ominously as the ''Master of the Howling Night.''</s>


    <s>The particulars of her magic remain a mystery, a subject of speculation and quiet awe. No one can define the extent or nature of her power, and this absence of clarity has led me to a sobering thought: the most fearsome forms of magic might well be those that evade our senses and elude our comprehension. Her legacy, therefore, dwells not in what is known, but in the haunting of the unknown."</s>


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0009] - Moonbay

    <blockquote>


    Ra


    Proper noun


    Translation: The Sun


    Definition: In Menschen, "Ra" is the name given to the Sun, revered as the embodiment of the Golden Dragon. It is a Spirit of immense power, whose true form remains a mystery to all creatures. "Ra" is not only the source of light and heat but also a symbol of ultimate dominio.


    </blockquote>


    As time was halted by Noctavia''s whim, nobles, emissaries, and soldiers were caught in various expressions¡ªmid-laugh, locked in serious discourse, or simply wearing stoic masks. Time had been paused, and the room''s occupants turned into living statues.


    Noctavia and Yeso wove through the assembly like wraiths, shadows slipping within the still crowd. They were in no hurry. They had this singular, stolen moment in time, and it was all theirs.


    As they glided past a general, his hand arrested in the act of reaching for a goblet, Yeso deftly plucked the jewelled dagger from his belt. Meanwhile, Noctavia''s fingers trailed along the sleeve of an emissary, relieving him of a hidden blade. Every weapon they found was placed meticulously in an intricate circle on the floor in front of the throne like an arcane pattern that spelt both threat and artistry.


    Finally, they reached the Prince, frozen like the others. They moved Xendrix, his body rigid but unresisting, next to their makeshift circle. He was positioned to face King Ieagan, who sat on his throne, his eyes wide but blind.


    As the couple moved, worried and busy with all the preparation for their plan, they didn¡¯t notice the Prince''s iris moving slightly to the left.


    Noctavia broke the voided silence as she turned toward Yeso. "How''s my makeup?"


    He studied her face, his thumb lightly grazing her cheek to smooth out a faint smudge of kohl. "A bit smeared here," he murmured. His touch was gentle as he blended the cosmetic back into place. "There, looks perfect."


    They both draw a mischievous smirk. "Maybe we should do your eyes," Noctavia suggested.


    "Really?" Yeso cocked an eyebrow, a sly grin forming. "You''re sure that''s a good idea?"


    "Trust me." Noctavia''s hand delved into her pocket and emerged, holding a small, black flask. Uncapping it with ease, she leaned in and traced a line of dark pigment beneath his lower eyelids, her thumb artfully smudging it to create a softer edge. "There. Now you look perfect."


    "Do you happen to have a mi¡ª"


    Before he could complete the sentence, Noctavia''s hand was already fishing into another pocket, from which she emerged a small hand mirror. She held it up, angling it so he could scrutinize his new look.


    Yeso looked into the mirror, his eyes now framed by the soft smudge of darkness, accentuating their natural intensity. For a moment, he was silent, and then his eyes met hers in the mirror''s reflection. "Perfect," he agreed, echoing her earlier sentiment, "I look handsome."


    "And terrifying! Like the Sun who burns land, sea, and sky!"


    "You''re right, I do," he added, the words tinged with a playful arrogance that only they knew.


    "Do you want me to braid your hair?" Noctavia asked, her eyes flicking toward his unruly diamond hair that cascaded over his shoulders. And contrary to Yeso, she was not joking.


    Yeso chuckled, sweeping his gaze over the room filled with people in a state of suspended animation. "We do have all the time in the world right now, don''t we?"


    In response, Noctavia gracefully descended to the cold floor, her colourful skirt pooling around her. Yeso sat between her legs with his back facing her, and she cradled his head in her lap. With nimble fingers, she began weaving his hair into cornrows, pulling the taut strands and intertwining them with an almost meditative rhythm. She almost completed half his head, leaving the other half in its natural, untamed state.


    "This feels nice," he murmured, his eyes closed as if to better capture the essence of the fleeting moment. As Noctavia''s fingers moved with practised ease through his hair, a tiny golden lily materialized beside his shoulder. The flower was inconspicuous, almost imperceptible, but it was there¡ªa little seed of Yeso''s happiness.


    "It''s been a while since we had time just for us," Noctavia agreed, tying off a braid and allowing her fingers to linger. She traced the outline of his ear before drifting down to caress his cheek.


    He tilted his head back slightly to look up at her. "It will change. Once humans realize they need us, we won''t have to steal moments like this. And I promise I will take you to Faewood and build us a house like we always talked about."


    "Is it so terrible if we return to Whitestone?" she wondered aloud, her eyes searching his.


    "It''s not about our return that concerns me. Veilla wouldn''t dare to touch you," he replied with a deeper, latent worry. "It''s about those left behind. The fairies, the halflings, and others who are not Menschen¡ªwhat happens to them?"


    Noctavia sighed as she completed the final cornrow, her fingers touching his cheek again. "Well, I guess that means we have a prince to teach¡ªand an entire court to convince that we can be trusted guides for their future King."


    Yeso rose to his feet, the braids in his diamond hair falling gracefully against his back. For a suspended moment, his eyes locked onto hers. He held his hand for her to stand, and she stood up while smoothing out her skirt before moving to adjust Yeso''s attire. Her fingers deftly straightened the fabric of his robe, then moved up to arrange his wings so they lay like a grand mantle over his shoulders. She stepped back to appraise her handiwork. "I''m ready."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Slowly, his hands found their way to her face. His fingers gently cradled her cheeks, and then he kissed her. Breaking away but pressing his forehead against hers, he breathed, "I am too."


    Noctavia positioned herself behind Xendrix, her copper dagger catching the light in a brief but chilling flash as she rested the blade gently against the vulnerable curve of his double chin. At her side, Yeso took a step closer to the throne, his eyes locking onto King Ieagan''s. In that breathless moment, time snapped back into motion.


    King Ieagan''s eyes widened into saucers, finally alive with cognition but filled with disbelieving terror. The crowd gasped collectively, a sudden burst of chaotic murmurs flooding the chamber.


    Meanwhile, Xendrix''s eyes shot open as the realization of his predicament hit him. His breath caught, becoming a strangled gasp as he felt the cold metal of Noctavia''s dagger resting against the tender skin of his throat.


    "We need to talk, little human, but this time, you listen," Yeso''s voice rose above the tide of disorder, commanding the room back into a semblance of focus. "This is the final warning for everyone present."


    "What... what is this?" King Ieagan spluttered.


    "This," Yeso articulated, cold as ice, "as I said, is your final warning. You have two choices: free Moonbay or I will smother the Sun. Forever."


    "You haven''t even listened to me!" the king snapped with a simmering rage that threatened to spill over, "This-this is madness!"


    Yeso narrowed his eyes, unyielding. "I don''t need to. This is not a debate! I see Balenos alone, two monarchs, and a room which was filled with armed humans.¡± He pointed to the circle around them, which was made of swords and daggers. ¡°And here I stand, holding your Sun and your heir. It seems to me the choice is abundantly clear."


    King Ieagan was almost frothing at the mouth, his words coated with disbelief and fury. "We haven''t even made a counter-proposition!"


    "I don''t need one," Yeso declared, his voice so stark it echoed in the room long after he had spoken. ¡°Free Moonbay, or the Sun dies. I can''t be more straightforward. Perhaps you need me to spell it in Menschen."


    The room plunged into a weighted silence, each person grappling with the magnitude of Yeso''s ultimatum. King Ieagan''s eyes darted frantically, first to the blade against his son''s neck, then to Yeso''s adamant countenance, and finally to the assembly of terrified faces that surrounded him.


    It was a thick hush surrounding negotiations with little to no room for discussion, for desperate calculations, only for the dawning realization of just how much was at stake.


    Catching Yeso''s glance, Noctavia subtly nodded toward the sheaf of papers resting on the armchair next to King Ieagan. They exchanged a brief but knowing look. Yeso''s head nodded in agreement.


    "Sign the papers," Yeso commanded, his eyes fixed on King Ieagan. "Seal them, spit on them, piss if that''s what it takes. But know this: from today onward, Moonbay belongs to the centaurs."


    King Orlan, standing among the crowd, broke his silence. "You listen to him, Ieagan! Sign those fucking bloody papers! Stop being a retarded arrogant moron! Sign it, for fuck sake! You heard the man!"


    King Ieagan''s eyes darted around the room, from the blade still pressed against his son''s throat to the papers that could change the fate of Moonbay. "What about Xendrix?" he finally asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed emotion.


    "I made a promise to turn him into an alchemist, and that promise stands¡ªif you keep yours," Yeso responded, "Sign the papers."


    The disgust on Ieagan''s face was unmistakable as he looked at his son. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Yeso''s point had landed; Ieagan needed an heir to maintain his throne, and a disgruntled son was better than no son at all.


    Yeso''s eyes then flitted to Balenos, the centaur leader, who remained silent throughout the exchange. Behind that stoic facade, Yeso sensed approval and relief. It was an audacious move, to be sure, one that implied a threat powerful enough to bring the entire chamber to a standstill.


    Humans could bear many things, but the eternal darkness that would result from the loss of the Sun was not one of them.


    Slowly, King Ieagan reached for the papers. His hand hovered for a moment before he snatched up the quill, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed. As he did, a collective exhale seemed to ripple through the room, as though every individual present was releasing a breath they didn''t realize they''d been holding.


    The papers signed by King Ieagan were sealed with his royal signature. He looked up, locking eyes with Yeso as if searching for some semblance of assurance of future peace. Yeso nodded once.


    Then Noctavia lifted the blade from Xendrix''s throat, stepping back, her eyes never leaving Yeso''s. It was done. The tenuous lines that had held the room in suspense snapped, replaced by a newfound, albeit fragile, sense of resolution. Moonbay was freed, but not yet for the humans.


    "What about the Sun?" As the ink dried on the newly signed and sealed papers, King Ieagan''s focus turned back to Yeso, a trace of suspicion clouding his words. "What about the Sun, Blue-One?" He repeated.


    "Yes," Yeso paused, his voice tinged with gravity. "Let me leave the castle unharmed, both me and my Hexe, and the Sun will return when I feel the threat is gone."


    Yeso and Noctavia pivoted, turning their backs to the throne and into the room filled with an assembly that had witnessed the impossible. As they took their first step, Noctavia reached over to pull Xendrix along. The young man looked perplexed, his eyes darting between the pair, but he followed with no further question.


    They made their way through the grand hall, each step echoing with the weight of the altered future they may have crafted. Reaching the courtyard, they found their horses waiting for them.


    As Yeso mounted his steed, his skin began to shimmer, veins of gold rippling just beneath the surface like liquid sunlight.


    And then, as if on cue, the eastern horizon bloomed with a light so magnificent it seemed to defy the need for description. As they looked on, the first rays of the Sun broke free from the earth''s embrace, casting long golden fingers across the land, touching trees, rivers, and faces¡ªand all creatures¡ªwith the warm promise of a new day.


    Noctavia''s eyes met Yeso''s once more, her gaze softened by the light that danced in his golden veins.


    A sudden sound shattered the heavy silence: the stomp of a boot on the pebbled ground. Yeso and Noctavia''s heads swivelled toward Xendrix, who glared at the ground with annoyance rather than fear.


    "Damn, those spiders, the more I kill, the more they show up," he muttered, ¡°One hundred two¡­¡±


    Yeso and Noctavia exchanged a glance, their faces losing colour. How many spiders did Xendrix say he killed?


    <blockquote>


    "Few figures incite both awe and dread like the Spiderqueen, a Dame whose mastery extended over the Spirit of Spiders and the Shadow World. Her name alone conjures images of creeping arachnids and engulfing darkness, a visceral picture that has seeded countless nightmares.


    Yet, for all the terror her moniker evokes, none can deny her reign was one of unparalleled prosperity for her subjects. Fields flourished, trade routes expanded, and her people lived in an age of relative peace. It''s an enigma that continues to baffle historians and common folk alike: a leader who simultaneously embodies our most primal fears and our highest hopes. Why did her reign end with the Exodus? And how?"


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. I by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH.0010] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Orm


    Ohrm


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: "Home" or "Place of dwelling". It represents a space where one feels a sense of belonging and safety. It''s not just a physical structure but also a concept of comfort and familial or communal connection.


    </blockquote>


    The sight before them was heart-wrenching¡ªa living nightmare transmuted into grim reality. Yeso and Noctavia sat atop their horses, staring at the settlement they''d spent countless Falls to build, to settle, to nurture.


    The word ''catastrophe'' barely did justice to the pandemonium unfolding below them. The place was teeming with spiders¡ªswarms of them, in numbers that defied belief. It was as if the ground itself had opened up to release this plague upon their home.


    Slowly, Yeso and Noctavia urged their horses forward. As they approached, they saw the frantic activity taking place. Children clung to their mothers as they packed up their meagre belongings.


    Groups of faeries, even Claramae, were saying their goodbyes, their moth wings quivering as they prepared to retreat to Faewood.


    Magis moved meticulously through the sea of arachnids, capturing them and placing them into wooden crates with the kind of respect one gives to a misunderstood creature.


    It was clear to everyone: the spiders had to be returned to their rightful owner, to the Herbstdame, Veilla. There was no other way to resolve this disaster than to right the wrong that had been committed.


    The ''why'' and ''how'' would have to wait for another, less calamitous, day.


    While the camp had been resolving the Spider situation for days now, they saw Prince Xendrix huddled inside his tent, the flaps pulled tightly shut as if they could ward off not just the spiders but the shame and regret that he must be feeling. Yet, instead, Xendrix felt something else¡ªsomething exhilarating.


    His tent had been oddly immune to the spider invasion, an irony that wasn''t lost on him. He should be with the others outside, lending a hand in the frantic effort to restore order. Yet, he was paralyzed by something. It was like heated waves rushing down him while his heart raced excitedly.


    Just as he sunk further into his morass of thoughts, a hand pulled back the entrance of his tent. "Can I come in?"


    Before he could even answer, Ulencia stepped inside. She sat down beside him and extended a plate laden with eggs and bread. "Sorry, we haven''t much¡­"


    "It''s fine, thank you. But I''m not hungry," Xendrix lied.


    Ulencia smoothed her skirt before looking at Xendrix with genuine concern. "What''s bothering you? You seem... off. Are you sick?"


    Xendrix shifted uncomfortably, his eyes evading hers. "Sick? No, it''s more... complicated than that," he replied, pretending a shame he was expected to feel.


    "You shouldn''t burden yourself with this," Ulencia reassured, though her smile failed to mask the depth of what was happening around them. "We were always aware of the risk that our efforts might not be what we hoped for."


    "But why? Why is this happening?" Xendrix asked, executing a show of confusion. It was as if he couldn''t understand the gravity of the chaos that shrouded the settlement, but he played his part perfectly.


    "Wouldn''t it be wonderful if we could remain all blissfully ignorant?" Ulencia sighed, trying to infuse some levity into the grim situation. "The humans are driving us out; our Dame is dragging us back, back to Ormgrund. It confuses me¡ªwhy can''t we share this land in peace? What''s so difficult about that?"


    Xendrix shrugged, "Fear, the craving for power and more power... Honestly, I really can''t say for sure."


    Ulencia leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. "But you do realize, don''t you? If we leave, the humans will lose any type of connection to magic. It''s not just us; it''s the magic itself that will leave."


    "The elves will remain," Xendrix argued, though his conviction wasn''t solid at all. He knew she was right.


    Ulencia shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. "Elves? They''re hardly the easiest to collaborate with. Good luck with that! You must understand that elves rely heavily on Menschen magic. Without us or the Spirits, who will follow, with no doubt... and then what?"


    "What do you mean the elves rely on Menschen magic?"


    "You''ve never heard about ley lines?" Ulencia asked, slightly surprised.


    He shook his head. "First time." He said with a smirk.


    Ulencia elaborated, "Think of it like a spider''s web that allows magic to flow through the world, like rivers. Where the lines intersect, you find a node that is where you control those lines of power. Only a select few of the Menschen, like our Dame, can activate these nodes and allow magic to flow under their influence all around the world ¡ª land, sea and sky. Why do you think the Centaurs are so adamant about Moonbay? Why do you think Yeso is working so hard to preserve it?"


    "It''s their homeland?" Xendrix ventured a guess.


    Ulencia nodded, "Yes, but there''s more to it. Moonbay is not just any place; it''s a node¡ªan Ormstaat. If humans succeed in taking over Moonbay... if they touch the node..."


    "We lose a crucial source of magic," Xendrix realized. "This debacle with the spiders¡ªit''s not a human error, right?" he said quickly, ¡°Is no one''s fault, right?¡±


    Ulencia''s expression softened, but she ignored his question. "Veilla lost faith in humanity long ago. We''re here because people like Yeso and Noctavia are fighting to bridge the gap between our kinds. There are many halflings, like myself, who don''t belong to Ormgrund. I was born here, in the human lands. I have no home or family in Ormgrund. There''s nothing for me there. If I''m forced to leave, I might as well accept the life of a stray living under a bridge."


    "If things get bad, you can always move in with me. The castle is big," Xendrix said, his eyes searching hers.


    Ulencia looked back at him, not with judgment but with a kind of melancholy. "You don''t understand, do you?"


    "Then explain it to me," he urged.


    "I''m trying, but either you''re not listening, or I''m not using the right words. I can''t stay here because I''m neither fully human nor fully Menschen. I can''t stay, but I have nowhere to go."


    "But your blood is blue," he blurted out.


    "So what?" she retorted, her eyes narrowing slightly.


    Xendrix stood up and faced her. "I might have a plan¡­ But I''ll need your help."


    As Ulencia gazed into Xendrix''s dark eyes, a chill skittered up her spine, an ominous sensation that she couldn''t quite shake off. Her thoughts were briefly interrupted by the sight of a small white mouse darting between the cushions of his tent. It was a trivial moment, yet it imprinted on her memory, like a subtle harbinger warning her of a future she was yet to understand.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "What exactly are you proposing?" Ulencia asked.


    Xendrix inhaled deeply, steeling himself. "Marry me," he stated bluntly.


    Ulencia couldn''t mask her surprise. "Marry you? We hardly know each other," she said, attempting a humorous tone.


    Xendrix leaned forward. "Think about it, Ulencia. With me, you won''t just have a roof; you''ll have a castle, a title. Imagine the influence we could wield together for the good of our people. Humans and Menschen. With a union of red and blue blood at the heart of the monarchy, our child could one day rule Keblurg and influence the rest of the map. And if the Menschen really leave, our children could be the bridge that welcomes their return."


    Ulencia listened, weighing his words, which seemed to have been rehearsed over and over again. "Tempting as that may be, I can''t say I harbour romantic feelings for you, Xendrix. I don''t know if I ever will."


    "I will make you love me," he said, almost muffling a dark intent.


    "You''ll ''make'' me love you?" she questioned, arching an eyebrow.


    Xendrix waved a hand dismissively. "It''s just a figure of speech. Don''t take it so literally. You know what I mean."


    "But isn''t this the reason why you''re studying alchemy?" Ulencia probed gently, "A human who wields magic that would build a bridge. How many bridges are needed?"


    Xendrix sighed, annoyed, a shadow of frustration crossing his features. "Yes, you''re right. But I''m worried. I''m only human, and my efforts in alchemy might not yield the results I hope for. This... our marriage could be a viable alternative, a plan B if you will. It''s not set in stone, of course. Not now."


    After a moment of contemplation, Ulencia nodded slowly and, with resignation, made her decision. "Alright," she agreed, "I''m in."


    The instant Ulencia uttered her agreement, time itself seemed to freeze. The world around them fell into a profound and eerie stillness. Each settler, every living creature, and even the smallest particles of dust and droplets of water hung suspended in the air, caught in the whimsical grip of halted time.


    While the two youngsters were plotting solutions for a better future, Yeso leaned against the pillar of his tabernacle, his eyes red and swollen, evidence of the tears he''d shed. Noctavia paced the limited space like a caged animal, her steps punctuated by pauses to shout or wipe away her own tears.


    To those outside, they''d been in there for maybe an hour. But time had been bent and folded within these fabric walls, Noctavia''s magic stretching moments into what felt like days. They''d been arguing in a loop that seemed never-ending, and Yeso had lost count of the times Noctavia had frozen time to prolong their discussion.


    "I''m coming with you!" Noctavia finally declared.


    "No, you are not, my love. I''m not changing my mind," Yeso responded with a pleading note.


    "I won''t let you go alone!" she shouted, her words ricocheting off the tent''s close quarters. "Mir eu was nyeo gut ja!" Nocatavia was clear that she wouldn''t change her mind.


    Yeso pushed off the pillar, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I can''t bear the thought of putting you in danger. I must do this alone."


    Noctavia''s eyes met his, ablaze with fear, love, and stubborn resolve. "And I can''t bear the thought of you facing it alone. What if something happens to you? What then?"


    He sighed deeply, torn between the love he felt for her and the dire mission that lay ahead. Finally, his shoulders slumped in defeat. His seed stung like by the acid burn of Noctavia''s turmoil. He understood and could feel in detail the cocktail of fear, anger, and jealousy that roiled within her.


    ¡°What if you die? I die here alone? Not knowing when and how? This is not what you promised me! You promised me we would be together no matter what! And no matter when! You promised Yeso! You promised!¡±


    "They need you here. I need you here," Yeso said softly, feeling as though he was walking on a tightrope stretched over a chasm. "I need to go and face her."


    "Take me with you!" Noctavia''s voice broke, ¡°Take me with you. We face her together. Please, mir amo, take me with you.¡±


    "I can''t," Yeso whispered his words, a scalpel that seemed to slice through the air between them. ¡°I won¡¯t risk it.¡±


    A pause hung heavy, and Noctavia''s voice quivered as she asked the question that had been haunting her.


    "If she asks you to stay with her, will you say yes?" Her normally fierce eyes brimmed with tears, the dam of her composure finally breaking.


    "My love... mir amo", Yeso''s voice trailed off, his eyes searching hers for something¡ªforgiveness, understanding, a sign. But all he saw was a mirror reflecting his own turmoil back at him.


    He took a deep breath and clasped her hands tightly as if, by sheer force, he was transferring his resolve to her. "I could never stay with anyone else. My heart belongs here, with you. But I must go to Ormgrund. I have to. And you... you have to stay. For them. For us. For me... for my sanity. Please, Zonnestra."


    But Yeso was stricken by the weight of Noctavia''s words. She had voiced the unspoken, brought to light the fears that had lurked in the shadows of his mind.


    "If she asks you again to be her Rame, will you say yes?" Noctavia''s words were like arrows, each one aimed with unerring accuracy at his vulnerabilities. "You would, wouldn''t you? If that would help your people, you would. You would accept that crown. You would leave me... you would... you-you..."


    Her voice cracked, crumbling under the weight of her own emotion. It was selfish, Yeso knew, but it was selfishness that she had every right to claim. And he, too, was terrified. Not because he desired a crown or power, but because he knew that given the choice to protect his people¡ªand Noctavia¡ªhe might be asked to make unimaginable sacrifices. And he couldn¡¯t.


    He watched as Noctavia sank to the floor, curling into herself like a wilted flower. Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her knees, her sobs a haunting melody of heartbreak and fear. Kneeling in front of her, Yeso gently lifted her hand and pressed it to his heart.


    "Tell me, what do you feel?" he asked softly, locking eyes with her.


    She looked up, her eyes red, and pressed her palm more firmly against his chest, letting her heart synchronize her heartbeat with his.


    "I feel a heart that loves me but is also pulled in so many different directions," she finally said, her voice quivering but clear. "I feel a heart that could be torn away from me at any moment, and I¡¯m scared."


    Yeso sighed, his eyes clouding. "And I feel a heart that is my home, one I never want to leave. But I''d rather burn land, sea and sky than hurt you, leave you. I wouldn''t. I cannot do it, Zonnestra, and I¡¯m scared it will turn me into a villain."


    A heavy silence fell upon them, fraught with the tension of impending choices and fears. Then, as if pulled by an invisible string, their lips met in a kiss that tasted of both love and sorrow, a bittersweet taste of mir fado.


    "You need to understand," Yeso whispered, breaking away but keeping his forehead pressed against hers. "It is always about you. That is the only thing I truly care about. You."


    "And you need to understand," she whispered back, "that no matter what happens, I will always love you and if something happens to you¡­ I¡­ I..."


    He kissed her the words. "I have hexed you, and you have hexed me. There is nothing, no creature, no Dame, no King, no Spirit, and not even death can change that."


    He leaned his forehead over her shoulder and whispered through her ear, ¡°I hex with whispers soft as night''s own hush. Feel my highs, my lows, the push and shove. In every quiet, fleeting rush, I hex you. I hex, I''ll taste the same, the skin, the tear. I hex your ups, your pull, your touch and your tongue. While speaking, screaming or hiding. I will be there, I hex you with my laughter and tears. With every beat of life in my blood. If you stray, we''ll share the fears, I hex! Until you come near, back into my arms. I hex your children, and the children of your children with this love will cling to their children of their children. I hex you to death and never leave you alone, and should you fall forever asleep, I hex, and I hex myself to sleep by your side and trick death until the end of time.¡±


    It was the spell, the blessed hex that Yeso had bestowed on both back then. Back in the day, he turned his back to the throne to be with her.


    Yeso''s lips met hers delicately at first, as if afraid that any more force would shatter the tenuous peace they''d just reached. But then the kiss deepened, fueled by a fire that neither could extinguish, even if they''d wanted to.


    A gentle breeze rustled the fabric of the tent, carrying with it the earthy scent of the land they both loved and fought for. For a moment, they were suspended in a world entirely of their own making.


    Noctavia pressed her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him¡ªof rain, pine, sun and that indefinable aroma that was uniquely Yeso.


    "I hex you," she murmured into his skin, seeking one final reassurance.


    "I hex," he answered, "and I hex myself to sleep by your side and trick death until the end of time."


    <blockquote>


    Saint Ulencia, a figure revered by humans and elves alike. In effigies and frescoes, she is invariably depicted as a young, serene maiden, cradling her swollen belly in an eternal slumber. This shared iconography, however, misrepresents a narrative rife with contradictions and overlapping beliefs. Neither human nor elf, Ulencia is heralded as the progenitor of all races, a primordial wellspring from which diverse lineages flowed. Her story is a tapestry of life, death, and miraculous rebirth, where legends speak of her peaceful demise in sleep¡ªa death from which the Green Mother, in elven lore, or the Holy Mother, according to human scripture, wrought the child from her lifeless form. Disentangling the threads of Saint Ulencia''s true history from the embroidered myths remains a challenge. Her tale, woven through the ages, blurs the lines between the divine and the mortal, leaving scholars and devotees to ponder where the woman ends and the saint begins. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0011] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Muna


    Moo?nah


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: In a world with nine moons, "Muna" refers to both an individual moon and the concept of a month. A "Muna" is the period during which one of the nine moons completes its cycle, approximately 44 days.


    </blockquote>


    A void of impenetrable darkness engulfed Yeso, save for the faint sensation of water sloshing beneath his feet¡ªa muted experience, oddly soundless. It was as though reality had been dialled down to zero. Even the rise and fall of his own chest felt eerily absent from his awareness.


    "Am I dreaming?" he wondered, his thoughts swirling in the black ether like fading echoes. It did smell like a dream.


    Drawn by an inexplicable yearning, he moved toward a dim flicker of light ahead. It grew brighter as he approached until it unveiled its source: a young girl standing before him. She was not just any girl; she wore the Crown of the Sun. The headpiece was a stunning sculpture of golden stag horns, arcing and intertwining to resemble the rays of the sun. An intricately crafted golden blindfold shielded her eyes, a metallic veil of otherworldly beauty.


    He knew that crown. He knew it too well. It was his crown.


    Yet, incongruently, her attire was a portrait of deprivation and servitude¡ªrags clinging to her form, sullied with sweat and tinged with blue blood stains. She wore the marks and scars of someone who had been tortured for Fall after Fall. Her hair of shimmering diamond strands mirrored Yeso''s own.


    "Who are you?" Yeso blurted out, his voice breaking the silence.


    As if caught in a spell, the girl repeated his words in perfect unison, "Who are you?"


    Intrigued, he cautiously extended his hand, watching her replicate his every move until her hand met his, palm to palm. It felt as though he were pressing against a cold, ethereal mirror.


    Driven by an instinct he couldn''t comprehend, Yeso ran his fingers through his hair. The girl mimicked his movement, her hand coursing through her own radiant strands with uncanny precision.


    "Who are you?" Yeso inquired once more.


    "Who are you?" she echoed back, and then she asked, "Am I Yeso?¡±


    With a jolt, Yeso snapped awake, realizing his head had lolled onto Jear''s broad shoulder. Blinking away the fog of the dream, Yeso almost raised his hands to rub his eyes, but the tactile memory of thin fabric against his skin reminded him he had blindfolded himself.


    Yeso tightened the cool handkerchief against his eyes. He wasn¡¯t blind; he could see through the fabric. It wasn''t just a piece of cloth, but it was a necessary safeguard for Noctavia and him.


    Hexe¡¯s distance or emotional strain between them could result in debilitating physical symptoms. The blindfold acted as a temporary buffer, disrupting the tangible connection between them and dulling the sensory links that could otherwise wreak havoc on their well-being.


    Usually, he would employ this tactic to save them both from the nausea and fatigue that accompanied long separations. But today, as the ship drew closer to Whitestone, Yeso had another motive. He wanted to shield Noctavia from the emotional tempest that might unravel him upon setting foot on the Capitol.


    Whitestone wasn''t just another mission; it was a place teeming with old wounds, long-buried memories, and unfinished business with Veilla. After all, he had broken the heart of his Dame.


    As he sat there on the deck, straightening up, he tried to salvage some dignity by discreetly wiping his mouth on his sleeve while simultaneously brushing it against Jear''s robe.


    "How was your nap, princess?" Jear''s voice oozed with playful sarcasm.


    "I had the strangest dream. I think... I was a girl."


    The tiefling burst out in uncontrollable laughter, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh, this is priceless! I never saw that coming!" he exclaimed, barely able to contain his amusement. "You, in a dress, would be quite the sight! Honestly, I never imagined you''d even consider it, but it''s definitely a hilarious thought. Just imagine the expression on Redfred''s face!" Jaer tried to stifle his laughter, placing a hand over his mouth, while Redfred from the other side of the deck observed the scene, one eyebrow raised in bemusement.


    "Me neither," Yeso admitted, still somewhat disoriented by the residual images of the dream.


    Jear gestured toward Yeso''s blindfold. "You think you can take that off now? Do you really think that blindfold will help? We''ve been sailing for hours."


    Yeso turned his head in the direction of Jaer''s voice and shrugged.


    "And you''re sure you want to go through with this? Your Hexe will be furious."


    Yeso sighed. "I know. I''ll handle her fury when the time comes."


    Jear shook his head. "You''ve got nerves of steel, Commander. I wouldn''t dare cross that woman."


    "It''s for her own good," Yeso repeated more to convince himself than Jaer. ¡°She¡¯ll forgive me.¡± He stood up and stretched his arms above his head, feeling his vertebrae realign with satisfying pops. "How much longer till we reach the Capitol?"


    Jear squinted at the horizon. "Half a day, give or take."


    The deck beneath them creaked as the ship surged forward, riding the waves. Yeso took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the briny scent of the sea, punctuated by the tang of salty air.


    Jaer pushed off the bench and made his way to the ship''s railing, gripping it with both hands. "So, what did you look like in this dream?"


    Joining Jaer, Yeso leaned against the railing, letting his weight rest momentarily on Jaer''s shoulder. "Small. Petit perhaps. I felt so small, not like myself."


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Well, you aren''t small at all!" Jaer chuckled, his eyes glinting mischievously. "That''s not like you at all. I''d have imagined you as a woman with... well, ample attributes. Yes, let''s call it ''attributes.''"


    "You''re talking about boobs, aren''t you, Magi Jaer? Since when do you concern yourself with such... ''attributes?¡¯"


    "Just because I don''t share my peers'' common fixation doesn''t mean I can''t appreciate their aesthetic qualities. You''re tall and fit; if you were a woman, those traits would likely translate into a more... buxom appearance." Jaer burst into laughter again, clearly pleased with his own logic.


    But Yeso''s expression sobered. "No, I was small in the dream, and I felt hurt and hungry... utterly alone. And... angry... I felt so much hate, so much rage, like never before."


    "That doesn''t sound like you at all!" Jaer''s levity faded, replaced by a more serious demeanour. "That sounds more like a nightmare than a dream."


    Yeso sighed, pushing the lingering images to the back of his mind. "It was unsettling, but I shouldn''t dwell on it. I need to focus on... whatever task at hand. We''re nearing Whitestone, and I need to figure out what I''m going to say when we get there."


    "So what''s the plan, Commander?" Jaer asked, shifting to a more concerned tone.


    "We''ll know soon enough," he said, more to himself than to Jaer. "We''ll know soon enough."


    The tiefling broke the brief silence before it had a chance to settle between them. "Look, as long as we get in, return those accursed spiders, and get out, we should be good. No need for unnecessary complications."


    "I thought you''d be excited to take in the sights, Jaja," Yeso said, his words laced with a playful tone.


    Jaer shrugged. "I''m not here for a scenic tour. We''ve got a mission, and that''s what matters." Yet even as he said it, Yeso could sense a slight flush creeping into Jaer''s already red skin.


    "Are you sure you''re not interested in some of the... Elven vistas?" Yeso nudged him with a grin.


    Jaer rolled his eyes. "Elven or not, I have¡ª"


    "Silver hair?" Yeso interjected, cutting him off, the teasing overtaking his voice, "lustrous pale skin, alluring green eyes..."


    "You''re not going to let this go, are you?"


    "And a broomstick permanently lodged in his royal a¡ª"


    Jaer cut him off. "Finnegan doesn''t have a broomstick up his royal rear, okay? He''s... nice."


    "Nice?" Yeso raised an eyebrow. "That''s the last word I''d use to describe the Elven King!"


    "I''m not talking about his personality, you oaf," Jaer said, giving Yeso a sidelong glance.


    The Commander chuckled. "Oh, you mean he''s that kind of ''nice.'' So, on a scale of one to Jaja, how nice are we talking?"


    The tiefling smirked. "He''s definitely nicer than you."


    Yeso feigned a gasp, clutching his chest. "Ah, my Menschen manhood has just been shattered by my best friend for a cocky elf!"


    "Does your Hexe complain about your niceness?"


    "No, not at all. She never did, and she never will. Because I¡¯m not nice, I¡¯m¡­ very gifted."


    "Well, she was always a very modest woman. And I''m not like her. I like more abundant niceness." Jaer shot back, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. ¡°Very gifted... yeah, sure. I have seen you naked¡­ it¡¯s rather modest compared to¡ª You really should check on Finnegan. It is hu¡ª¡±


    "Ouch!" Yeso exaggerated his response, clutching his chest theatrically.


    It made the Magi snort. "Stop being so dramatic, Commander!"


    Switching to a more earnest tone, "Just be cautious, alright? If Finnegan is at Whitestone, you need to watch your back. And if anyone¡ª"


    Jaer didn¡¯t let him finish. "Yeso, I know how to be discreet; I''ve been doing it my entire life."


    "I know you have, but it shouldn''t have to be that way. One day, things will change, and you won''t have to look over your shoulder. You''ll be free to love whomever you choose, no matter the sex and no matter the race¡­ no matter the blood."


    Jaer chuckled bitterly. "I''ll believe that when I see you transformed into a damsel in distress with no boobs."


    "One day," Yeso said softly, placing his hand over Jaer''s. "And if that day comes, that ''decent guy'' better make you really happy with his niceness. Otherwise, he''s going to have to answer to my Hexe."


    Jaer winced. "Now, that is a truly terrifying thought."


    "I take care of my own," Yeso said, his eyes locking onto Jaer''s as if to underscore the point, "I know how to use the weapons I hold, and my Hexe is the scariest I have!"


    Jaer nodded, "I know you do, Commander. I know."


    "Speaking of which, where did Redfred go? He was there in front of us." Yeso pointed to a specific point in the deck that was now vacant.


    Jaer smirked. "Oh, he''s probably off somewhere, hatching one of his elaborate plots and hating everything that is not dignifying to be a Menschen!"


    Yeso chuckled at Jaer''s assessment of Redfred. "Yeah, he has a particular knack for creating political drama."


    Jaer''s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression amused but still concerned. "When you put it that way, it makes me wonder why he''s with us. Especially paired with Muru, who is a sponge of any of his words. I don''t like the combination."


    Yeso leaned back against the railing, "I''ve had similar reservations. But we need to present a united front, especially now. Our best play is to keep them close. At least this way, we can keep an eye on them."


    Jaer nodded. "So, you''re subscribing to the ''keep your friends close, but your enemies closer'' philosophy?"


    "Why not?" Yeso confirmed. "And despite our differences, I have to admit Redfred has a grasp on certain aspects of law and protocol that even I find bewildering. He knows how to navigate bureaucratic mazes, which could come in handy."


    Jaer took a deep breath as if digesting what he couldn''t deny was true. "I suppose that makes sense. But what about Muru?"


    Yeso sighed. "Talk to him when you get a chance. He is just a kid. We can''t afford internal strife right now. Muru should see both sides of the coin and understand what''s at stake here."


    Jaer looked back at Yeso, his eyes serious, "Alright, I''ll do it. I trust you know what you are doing, Commander. I just don¡¯t see this kid¡­"


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I think it was a mistake to give Muru the Black Robe. But I trust you.¡±


    Yeso gave Jaer a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I usually do, don''t I?"


    "Says the man with a blindfold on his face because he is about to meet his ex!"


    "Don''t say it like that!"


    "What other way can I say it?"


    "Nicely?"


    A smirk tugged at the corners of Jaer''s mouth. "Nicely? You''re asking me, of all people, to put it ''nicely?''"


    "Yes, well, one can hope," Yeso retorted, his voice tinged with faux indignation.


    Jaer chuckled, his laughter melding with the distant cries of seabirds and the creak of the ship''s timbers. "Fine, let''s put it this way: You''re a man of grand strategies but wearing a blindfold because you''re about to encounter... a significant person from your past¡­ you know what I mean."


    Yeso sighed, momentarily disarmed by his friend''s eloquence with sarcasm. "When you put it that way, Jaja, it sounds almost poetic."


    "Only almost?"


    "Let''s not push it," Yeso warned, grinning despite himself.


    Jaer''s laughter softened, and he looked at his friend with an expression that trod the line between amusement and earnestness. "All I''m saying is, don''t let the past unnerve you. You''re not the same man you were, and she''s not the same woman. People change."


    "Yes, they do," Yeso admitted.


    Jaer nodded, his eyes meeting Yeso''s blindfolded gaze as he could see straight through it. "For all you know, she might have forgiven you."


    Yeso felt the weight of Jaer''s words settling in, mixing with his own suspicions. "You''re right," he said, not very convinced. "Maybe she has."


    "That''s the spirit," Jaer said, clapping him lightly on the back, ¡°Is good to admit when one is seriously fucked!¡±


    <blockquote>


    Contrary to what many might presume, the commonality between humans and elves isn''t a shared prejudice against same-sex unions. Time and again, history has shown us couples of the same sex thriving. It''s a revelation that emerges with clarity upon closer examination of love stories, both celebrated and secret. The true crucible of prejudice¡ªbe it among elves or humans¡ªis not whom one loves but the purity of one''s bloodline. Both races, it seems, harbour a deeply rooted belief in the sanctity of their lineage. An elf or human may choose a partner freely within the confines of their kind, love unrestrained by gender, so long as the partner reflects the expected blood heritage and appearance. It''s a poignant reflection on the ancient values that still dictate the boundaries of love and acceptance in our world. Now imagine how the world would react if a High elf with green blood fell in love with a simple Tiefling with blue blood. Different race, different blood and both male¡ªit was never meant to have an happy ending. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0012] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Veilla


    Vay?lah


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: "Veilla" denotes the boundary known as the Veil, which delineates the material world from the Spirit world¡ªa domain of dreams and nightmares. This threshold is an integral part of the Menschen''s spiritual framework, symbolizing the passageway to where the "saatgut", or soulseed, may reside, and where individuals may traverse in their dreams. The capacity to navigate through the "Veilla" is an exceptional ability, typically linked to those bearing a powerful seed.


    </blockquote>


    Yeso could sense the scent of Veilla''s private quarters even beneath the thin fabric of the blindfold. The familiar aroma of aged books and the subtle hint of lilac filled the air, evoking memories deeply etched in his mind. As he felt the plush velvet chair beneath his fingers, he knew little had changed since he left.


    Growing up in his late teens, within these walls that had shaped him and crafted him to view the world from an elevated status, a perspective designed for rulership and cold judgment¡ªa Commander. Yet, everything had shifted the moment his Hexe entered his life.


    The opulence of the Capitol he had forsaken for her was nothing compared to the richness she brought into his existence.


    Lost in these reflections, the sound of the door creaking open jolted him back to the present. Veilla''s distinct footsteps were unmistakable. He felt her presence before she even spoke.


    "Sit!" Her voice, commanding yet familiar, cut through the silence. He complied, easing into the chair. "Is that blindfold really necessary?" she questioned, "You look like an idiot!"


    "Nice to see you again, Veilla," he greeted, betraying none of the torrent of emotions that her presence and this return to the Capitol stirred within him.


    ¡°You see me? Are you fucking with me?¡±


    Yeso didn¡¯t have the time to explain that he wasn¡¯t blind beneath the thin fabric blindfold, yet the sharp crack of Veilla''s hand striking his cheek came without warning. The blow was so sudden and forceful that a ringing filled his ears. Yeso, momentarily stunned, finally saw her settling into the chair across her desk. Tenderly, he rubbed his stinging cheek, attempting to diffuse the tension with humour. "Feeling better?"


    "Not really," Veilla admitted. "How is she?"


    "She''s okay," came Yeso''s curt reply. He felt uncomfortable speaking about his Hexe to the Fallqueen.


    "Are you happy?" she prodded further.


    "Would be more without you slapping me." Yeso''s attempt at light-heartedness did little to alleviate the seriousness of their exchange. Still massaging his cheek, he added, "You still have a firm grip."


    "The blindfold, take that stupid thing off!"


    "But..."


    "I am your Dame! It''s an order! Take it off!"


    Obediently, Yeso removed the blindfold, his eyes adjusting to the light, settling on Veilla. Time had not dulled her breathtaking presence. Her raven hair, cascading in curls over her shoulders, framed a face of timeless elegance. Her eyes, a piercing blue, seemed to see right through him. There she stood, embodying an effortless blend of beauty and commanding grace¡ªhis first love, yet inevitably, not his last.


    "Ollo," he greeted her in Menschen, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.


    "Do you have any idea of the position you left me in?" She snatched a folder from the desk, flinging it toward Yeso. He caught it deftly, his fingers brushing over the crisp papers as he skimmed through the pages. His involvement, he quickly realized, was about far more than the spiders.


    "First, you blatantly defy me, interfering in matters that hold no concern for the Capitol," she continued, her tone seething. "Really, Yeso? Embroiling yourself in a dispute between two kingdoms over a handful of Centaurs?"


    "They refused to leave Moonbay because..."


    She interrupted him sharply, "I have already offered them asylum here in Ormgrund. If they decline, that''s on them, not you and certainly not me!"


    "But..."


    "No ''buts,¡¯ Yeso! You cannot simply defy me like this!"


    "I understand..." he muttered, recognizing the futility of arguing further. Then, raising his voice, he added, ¡°It would be impossible for you to know¡ªto feel it¡ªwouldn¡¯t it? After all, we don¡¯t want it to be known that our dear, powerful, all-knowing Herbstdame, sovereign over the Map, can¡¯t perform what is expected from her. So how could she understand the plead of the centaurs?¡±


    She ignored him and proceeded. "And forty-two days of near-total darkness? Have you lost your mind?" Veilla slammed her palm against the table, her eyes blazing.


    "We avoided bloodshed," he protested.


    "By meddling in a conflict that, once again, was neither our concern nor our responsibility! You have disobeyed me again. Do you realise how this affected me? Complaints have poured in from the Red Sea to the Fisherman District. People unable to sail! Unable to work! And when they can''t work, they can''t trade. No trade means no food. And hungry people are angry people, Yeso. Do you understand?"


    "Yes, Dame."


    "You cannot be so selfish, sacrificing the many for the few. What is your end game in all this?"


    "I want everyone to live peacefully in the same land and protect the¡­"


    Veilla shook her head. "Humans have made their choice, and I have made mine. Your mission isn''t to play the peacemaker but to gather our people and bring them home!" Her words were final and uncompromising, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.


    As Yeso pondered his situation, he could feel the weight of his decisions pressing down upon him, not just on his shoulders but on the entirety of Ormgrund. His choices weren''t just political manoeuvres or a whim of idealism; he was protecting a place of power¡ªan Ormsaat¡ªseeded in Moonbay that Veilla could simply not sense.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Yeso was never born to be a Rame, a ruler swayed by the shifting tides of court intrigue and diplomacy. His Spirit was that of a Commander¡ªa man who lived among the people, who spoke their languages, understood their customs, and witnessed first-hand their struggles and joys.


    In his mind, he wasn''t merely tasked with gathering scattered blue-blooded creatures to return them to a homeland they might not even remember. His mission was broader, nobler. He aimed to build a future, a new vision where diverse cultures and races could coexist, learn from one another, and grow together.


    Veilla never understood it, but his Hexe did. Until now, she has always walked beside him, helping him with his mission.


    "Who exactly is ''our people,¡¯ Veilla?"


    Veilla''s brow furrowed. "What kind of question is that?"


    "I need to know who I''m meant to be gathering. Is it just me, my Hexe, Redfred, Muru? What about Jaer, or Mediah?"


    "I fail to understand your meaning¡­"


    "Let me make it clearer, Dame," Yeso leaned forward. "People fall in love or get carried away by passion ¨C choose whichever scenario suits your narrative. Their children might be born with wings, wield magic, carry blue blood, or exhibit none of these traits. Are they still considered ''our people?¡¯"


    His gaze fixed intensely on Veilla, unflinching. "You see, there''s this girl, Ulencia. She''s everything you''d expect of a Menschen¡ªbright, captivating. But she has no magic, not a trace. We tried everything to awaken it but to no avail. Do you know what she told us? ''I''m just a human with a pretty blood colour.'' So, my Dame, I ask you again: who exactly are ''our people?¡¯"


    "What do you expect me to say, Yeso? That I¡¯ll step in and miraculously save everyone?" Veilla''s voice rose due to frustration.


    "It''s not about saving ''them'' specifically," Yeso countered, matching her intensity. "It''s about changing a mindset, challenging the prejudices that make no logical sense. How do you think the humans will fare without any magic?"


    "They made their choice!" Veilla''s voice cracked. "They sealed their own borders, not me. I''m doing everything I can here. But I''m alone. We were meant to do this together, and you chose to leave me! You abandoned me!"


    "That''s not how it was!" Yeso''s voice grew louder.


    "By the Spirits, Yeso, do you think I cared about who you slept with? All I ever wanted was for you to stand beside me as Rame. I never cared if you had a mistress..."


    The accusation struck a nerve. Yeso leapt to his feet, slamming his palm against the desk. "Don''t you dare call her that!" His voice thundered through the room. "She has never been¡ªwill never be¡ªthe other woman. I won''t let you belittle Zonnestra like that!"


    Veilla recoiled slightly but was still angry. The tension in the room escalated like a taut string about to snap.


    She leaned back into her chair, her hand absent-mindedly stroking her belly, slightly more pronounced than he remembered. Yeso''s eyes widened a fraction. "You''re pregnant. Again?"


    "Yes, again," she replied with a nonchalance that seemed a bit forced.


    Yeso recalled the news of her having twins a few Falls after he departed from the Capitol aeons ago. He never delved into the question of their paternity or the conspicuous absence of a father to be named the next Rame. But this revelation, after her earlier insinuations, jarred him. "I''m happy for you," he offered cautiously.


    "I''m not entirely sure how I feel," Veilla confessed, her gaze dropping.


    "May I... ask why?"


    She sighed deeply, her eyes meeting his again. "I don''t know whose it is."


    "Oh."


    "He never said his name, but he was..."


    "Quite the party?" Yeso''s attempt at lightening the mood was tentative.


    "Oh yes..." Veilla chuckled wryly. "Perks of being a Dame, right? But I wasn''t prepared for... this."


    "This would be the second time..."


    "Please, don''t," she interrupted quickly.


    "I won''t."


    "You''re not going to call it a miracle?"


    Yeso smirked slightly. "Well, I don''t think its mechanics are particularly divine."


    "You idiot," she laughed, her mood momentarily lightened. "I''ve missed you, you know."


    "I''ve missed you too," he said earnestly.


    "I mean, I missed my friend. I missed my best friend."


    "I know. I''ve missed having my friend on my side as well."


    " I am still on your side," she said, her tone turning more stern.


    Yeso smirked again. She knew that smile too well. So she wasn''t surprised when he answered, "No. It has been a long time since you haven''t. Otherwise, you wouldn''t be here; you would be among your people building bridges instead of destroying them."


    "You left, Yeso!"


    "I did, and you know why!"


    The lightness of their previous exchange had ebbed away, yielding by Yeso¡¯s final question, "So, what''s the punishment?"


    Veila straightened up in her chair, clasping her hands in front of her with a solemnity that matched the moment. "For the crime of disobeying me and meddling in affairs that are not in the interest of your dame, your head will be shaved."


    "All of it?" Yeso asked a touch of surprise in his tone.


    "Every diamond strand," Veila confirmed, "Will be used to repair the damage we had in the last moon. And for plunging the world into forty-two days of darkness..." she pressed on while Yeso embraced himself. "You will endure complete isolation for an equal number of days."


    "Sounds... fair."


    Veila hesitated before continuing, her discomfort palpable. "And for the crime of killing one hundred and two spiders..." She paused, swallowing hard. "You shall be flogged in public, one hundred and two times."


    Yeso''s eyes widened momentarily, and then he shook his head. "Veilla, I don''t know if I can¡ª"


    "You must learn to control yourself, Yeso." Her voice was stern but underlined with concern.


    "You do realize, if I lose control, I might incinerate everything and everyone around me," he warned, his voice low.


    "I''m aware," Veila replied softly. "This isn''t a punishment of my choosing. It was decreed by my Spirit. It was this... or worse, way worse." Her tone suggested she was trapped.


    Yeso took a deep breath, accepting his fate. "Very well, I have one condition," he stated firmly.


    "What is it?"


    "Blindfold me. I''ll do everything in my power to keep my magic and Spirit in check, but I can''t¡ªshe can''t¡ªbear the pain through our connection. From the first lash to the last, keep my eyes covered."


    Veila''s nod, tinged with a trace of relief, sealed their agreement. "It''s a fair request. I''ll ensure it''s done." Her words, though formal, couldn''t mask the faint quiver of concern underlying them. "I''ve prepared your room. At least for tonight, you''ll have all the comforts," Veila offered, a slight softening in her tone.


    "Thank you," Yeso responded, his gratitude genuine despite the looming dread of what awaited him.


    Rising to leave, the Commander was almost at the door when Veila''s voice halted him. "Yeso?" she called.


    He turned, anticipating her next words. There was a silent plea in her eyes, an unspoken hope against hope.


    "You could always reconsider and accept..." she began, her voice trailing off, laden with unfulfilled desires and what-ifs.


    Shaking his head, he answered, "I have accepted my punishment, and so should you." His words were firm, closing any doors to alternative possibilities, sealing their fates along separate paths.


    Stepping out of the chamber, Yeso traversed the familiar corridors that once echoed with his footsteps in a different time, a different life. A sudden chill wrapped around him, a cold unlike any he had known within the Capitol''s walls.


    It seeped into his bones¡ª a cold he would never come to know¡ªWinter


    <blockquote>


    The Whitestone Capitol was said to be a breathtaking sight, its scale and beauty surpassing any simple description. Located in the Central District, it was constructed of gleaming white stone. A colossal embodiment of power sprawling over the landscape like a sovereign entity.


    Encircled in its foundational layer, the ground floor sprawled like a great, circular labyrinth. Here, segregated sectors dedicated to medicine, scholarship, archives, and various forms of Magi practices stood alongside divisions for agriculture, commerce, economics, and representative quarters for every district of Ormgrund. This floor alone was a microcosm of the world''s greatest minds.


    Ascending to the first floor, one would find the heart of the palace''s operations. This expansive level was reserved for the staff¡ªa small army of maids, butlers, servants, and cooks.


    The second floor, still more immense, housed the luxurious chambers of nobles, kings, and queens.


    At the zenith of this architectural marvel, the last floor was exclusively reserved for the Dame and her inner circle. Here, at the centre of it all, sat her throne room, a space that, no doubt, radiated her authority and true power, the node of Whitestone.


    Above it all, reaching towards the heavens was the topmost Tower¡ªa mysterious spire that none could decipher. <s>Its purpose, discovered only by my father, was still, for me, a subject of speculation and wonder. He never told anyone what happened in that Tower, and I wonder if anyone had ever asked.</s>


    ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0013] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Ollo


    Oh?loh


    Type: Interjection


    Meaning: A formal or informal greeting used among Menschen, equivalent to "hello" or "greetings" in Human.


    </blockquote>


    Veilla wandered through the Palace gardens, bathed in a blend of scents¡ªfloral and soil-like, intertwined with the gentle breeze. The peace of the surroundings momentarily calmed the storm within her thoughts and, perhaps, within her heart.


    Her eyes, lost in thought, eventually focused on a small figure amidst the lush foliage: her daughter, Fiorna.


    Fiorna''s hair, as white as the purest alabaster and woven with a myriad of blossoms, presented a vivid contrast to her deep blue eyes. Those eyes, a hallmark of the Menschen lineage, shimmered with a depth of kindness and innocence as deep as a tranquil sea.


    She was fixated on a young sapling, her slender fingers hovering just above it with a touch as gentle as a whisper. Veilla proudly observed in silent awe. Under Fiorna''s careful magic, the sapling responded as if touched by the Green Mother itself. Its leaves unfurled, revealing a lush green vibrancy, while its buds bloomed into the softest shades of pink, an enchanting spectacle of natural beauty and grace.


    "Scheida!"


    "Language!" Veilla interjected, her tone light yet assertive, cutting through the garden surrounding them. "What''s there to complain about? It''s absolutely beautiful."


    Fiorna, with a mild start, turned to face her mother. Her smile, radiant and warm like the first light of dawn, graced her features. "Mother, you gave me a scare," she said with a light chuckle, her relief evident. "I was trying to create blue flowers, but it seems these trees have a preference for shades of pink or red."


    A gentle smile played on Veilla''s lips as she instinctively placed a hand on her round belly, "Persistence might be the key, sweety."


    Fiorna glanced back at the sapling, her expression softening with a touch of wonder. "The closest I managed was purple," she mused. Then, her curiosity shone through, and she turned her attention back to her mother. "How did it go?"


    "How did what go, sweetheart?"


    "Your talk with the man with hair of diamonds," Fiorna clarified, her eyes searching her mother''s face, ¡°Your first love, but not the last.¡±


    Veilla''s expression wavered for a moment, a hint of unease flickering in her eyes. "Oh, you knew about that..." she murmured, her voice trailing off as she grappled with the memories of that difficult conversation.


    "I know many things, many that I choose not to speak of," Fiorna''s voice floated softly, imbued with a depth of wisdom that seemed to surpass her Falls. ¡°Like the name of the father.¡±


    She was more than just the personification of Spring; she possessed an indescribable power, a kind of clairvoyance, perhaps, that Veilla couldn''t fully grasp. And Fiorna, in her bizarre way, remained tight-lipped about whose Spirit called her Master.


    Amidst the rustling leaves, Veilla''s voice arose, fragile and hesitant. "Am I making a mistake?" she asked.


    Fiorna turned to her, "Does it feel like a mistake?"


    Veilla''s reply was an uncertain murmur. "I don''t know..."


    A shadow of contemplation briefly darkened Fiorna''s expression, a ripple of concern crossing her face. "Everything happens for a reason." Fiorna paused, her eyes dropping as if grappling with a painful realisation. "It''s just a shame..." Her voice trailed off, "The world will be a much darker place without them."


    "Fiorna?" Veilla''s heart clenched, a sense of foreboding enveloping her as she sensed the weight of her daughter''s words. "Who is them?"


    Fiorna seemed to withdraw, her attention shifting back to the sapling. "I can''t force a tree to bloom blue flowers," she murmured, perhaps deflecting, perhaps answering in her own cryptic way.


    "If something was wrong, if something was going to happen, you would tell me, right?"


    Fiorna paused her spell, which was nurturing the tree, and turned to face Veilla with a solemn expression. She placed her hands tenderly over her mother''s belly, feeling the subtle stir of life within. "It''s too late now, and there was nothing any of us could have done," she spoke softly, "You will survive. And you will bring back the sun to the sky in the most extraordinary way imaginable. Zora will be the name fighting against darkness so that the Dreamer can write about the light."


    Veilla listened, her mind swirling with chaos. Was Fiorna speaking to her or to the unborn child within her?


    "But the sun is already shining," Veilla responded, her thoughts turning to Yeso. "The Commander brought back the sun¡­ he wouldn''t plunge the world into darkness again."


    "Not for long," Fiorna repeated, her voice low and laced with an ominous certainty. "Not for long." With these words, she lowered her gaze and began to meander through the garden, leaving her mother behind.


    Veilla watched her leave, a sense of profound realisation slowly settling over her. For the first time, she grasped that Fiorna had revealed more in this conversation than ever before, unveiling glimpses of a future she had always kept secret. What made her change her ways?


    The name ''Zora'' echoed in her mind, but she couldn''t fully comprehend why.


    Fiorna walked to her room and closed the door. After that, she waited while the delicate sound of her dress rustled softly, intermingling with the whispering breeze that flowed through the tall, open window. Her petite figure was now gracefully positioned on the bed, one leg folded over the other.


    The room was holding its breath in wait for something¡ªor someone significant.


    Yet, Fiorna''s thoughts drifted to her twin, Fiona. The difference between them was as profound as contrasting elements akin to water and oil.


    Fiorna, a beacon of warmth and light, starkly contrasted with Fiona''s impenetrable darkness, which seemed devoid of emotion and warmth.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    She had often attempted to breach the icy barriers surrounding her twin''s heart, seeking to understand and empathize with Fiona. However, the cold, impenetrable walls surrounding Fiona Saatgut presented a formidable challenge, leaving Fiorna often at a loss on how to connect with her sister.


    Fiorna possessed a unique perceptiveness to the essence of all living beings, an ability to perceive their innermost ''seeds''¡ªwhat humans might refer to as the soul.


    However, when it came to Fiona, this perception presented a profound nothingness. Fiona''s seed, if it existed, seemed ensnared in an eternal frost, a state that was both unreachable and unyielding. This led Fiorna to ponder deeply and often: Did Fiona even possess such a seed? Could such a phenomenon exist¡ªa being without a soul, merely a hollow vessel filled with raw, unguided magic?


    As Fiorna was lost in her contemplations, a sudden, tiny squeak pierced the quiet of the room. A small white mouse, its movements both swift and jittery, darted in through the window, adding a touch of whimsy to the scenery.


    "Ollo, Spirit," Fiorna greeted it, a gentle smile gracing her lips.


    The mouse halted for a moment, its small, red eyes shimmering in the soft light. It seemed to cautiously evaluate its new environment. Sensing the absence of danger and perhaps drawn by Fiorna''s inherent warmth and the peaceful aura she radiated, the mouse timidly approached her.


    Fiorna slowly extended her hand, palm facing upward, towards the tiny visitor. "You appear to be troubled today."


    The mouse twitched its whiskers, and though it made no sound that a creature could understand, Fiorna nodded as if receiving a silent message.


    "You may speak," she whispered, more to herself than her tiny guest. "I won''t tell anyone."


    The Dreamer Mouse tilted her head. "You can hear me?" She asked, her voice surprisingly clear for such a small creature.


    "Yes, I can hear you and the others, too.¡±


    The mouse seemed almost human in its mannerisms, climbing onto her hand with a familiarity that spoke of a bond deeper than appearance.


    "Who is your Spirit?" The Dreamer looked up at her, her whiskers twitching, almost demanding. "I need to know if I can trust you or them! Is it the dual-headed fish? I don''t like that guy!"


    "I''m not sure... they''ve never revealed themselves to me," Fiorna admitted.


    "I see, I see... But why summon me?"


    Fiorna''s gaze settled back on the small mouse, her face reflecting a thoughtful demeanour. "I''ve heard that you''re in search of your Master."


    "Who told you that?" the mouse asked with a hint of scepticism.


    "No one in particular."


    "But someone or something must have informed you. Knowledge doesn''t just appear out of thin air, and even air is something tangible. So, who was it? Who told you about my Master?"


    Fiorna appeared slightly puzzled and shrugged her shoulders in response. "I truly don''t know... and unfortunately, I don''t have much time left to provide you with that kind of information."


    The mouse seemed to grow anxious. "Do you know where he is, then? My Master, where can I find him?"


    "I believe you will meet him very soon.¡±


    "How soon?" The Dreamer asked impatiently.


    Fiorna paused, considering her words. "What does ''soon'' really mean?" she mused aloud. "What is now was once tomorrow and will be yesterday. For a dreamer like you, it should be clear that time is perhaps the greatest lie ever conceived."


    The mouse let out a huff, a quaint sound that conveyed both exasperation and charm. "Ah, you''re one of those philosophical types... quite frustrating. If I didn''t know any better, I''d think you were a Spirit yourself! A masterless Spirit at that!"


    The princess laughed lightly. "I am merely Fiorna."


    "So, is that your only message for me? That I''ll meet my Master soon? Not much of a useful information..." The Mouse asked with a hint of disappointment on its tiny face.


    Fiorna gently shook her head, her hair moving softly with the motion. "No, there''s more. I have a gift for you. Well, actually, a gift for your Master."


    "A gift? For my Master? But why?"


    "I won''t be needing it anymore, and since I haven''t been able to turn the flowers blue, I want to make sure it''s safeguarded," she explained, her words filled with a sadness that The Dreamer couldn''t understand yet.


    The Spirit observed with intense focus as Fiorna brought her thumb to her right eye. She pressed with such force that her eye socket began to bleed, and a soft plop sound echoed in the stillness.


    Fiorna then started to cough, making a deep, wracking sound as if something was lodged in her throat. She coughed so violently that she gasped for air, and when finally she opened her mouth wide, something remarkable came out.


    From between her lips, she extended a hand, and on her palm lay an eye, but not her blue eye. It was the amber eye!


    It wasn''t a gruesome sight; instead, it was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic, as if encapsulating the mysteries of a hidden universe.


    "But that is the¡­" The mouse started, almost stammering, "The eye that can see it all!"


    "Yes, one of them. I still have the other," Fiorna clarified, with one eye bleeding down her right cheek. "I want you to give it to your Master!"


    "Why?" The mouse asked in astonishment. "Why would you entrust me with this?" The Spirit looked both bewildered and awestruck, its tiny paws trembling slightly as it beheld the eye.


    "You''ll understand in time. Your Master is destined to be nothing less than extraordinary. You''ll love him, and you''ll do anything to keep him safe," she declared, "He''ll author so many books and none under his real name. He will teach and guide others, but above all, he will love the way that only one born of the sun could love."


    The Dreamer Mouse gingerly accepted the eye, its movements cautious and reverent. "I... I will remember this. I will protect it with my life... sorta speaking..." it said, its voice quivering with the weight of the responsibility bestowed upon it.


    "It''s alright if the memory fades," Fiorna replied, her voice soft and understanding, even as blood trickled from her closed eye. Her remaining eye looked distant, reflecting thoughts and visions known only to her. "In the grand book of the universe, I am but a fleeting page... a tiny text in a very, very long story."


    "Is there anything I can do for you?" The Dreamer asked, its tiny eyes fixed on her, "I mean as a reward for¡­ this."


    Fiorna shook her head gently, and then, as if changing her mind, she asked, ¡°Do you think you can ask your Master to give¡­¡± she hesitated, ¡°To give the hex to a person?¡±


    ¡°The hex? You mean Yeso¡¯s hex?¡±


    She nodded, ¡°He needs to give it to the Magi, whose name starts with M.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll know. I would really like to meet him if it isn¡¯t too much trouble. But besides this, you and your master need to focus on the world, relearning all the events and how it all ended. Once you understand, you''ll unravel the fabric of the universe to weave a new story, and maybe I can come back¡ªmaybe with two or more pages. Maybe I will have a Hexe, too. I would like that very much."


    The Dreamer Mouse seemed surprised by her insight. "Oh, so you''re aware of that as well?" it queried, a hint of astonishment in its tone. "Are you certain you''re not a Spirit, like myself?"


    Tears welled up in Fiorna''s open eyes. "I won''t be here much longer... but¡­ I¡­ I am not important. I never was. But I hope one day I will¡­"


    "It''s okay to feel fear," the mouse said softly, attempting to offer comfort. "I was scared, too."


    "I don''t want to cave to her satisfaction. I wish to remain brave." Fiorna''s voice quivered slightly, yet it carried an undercurrent of firm resolve, a courage that of a dead man''s walking. ¡°I¡¯m scared I¡¯m not able to come back¡­ that I would get lost in the night sky forever, and I will never learn his full name.


    The Dreamer Mouse''s expression shifted. "I can do one thing for you," it declared.


    "But I..."


    "Your tale won''t merely be a page or even a brief chapter in a big story. It will be as grand and profound as your kindness, and I definitely hope to chat with you again. You''re incredibly wise, more so than many Spirits I''ve encountered. Like that stupid dual-head fish, I hope you never meet them. They are the worst! But you, I promise you, all your wishes will come true. I never lie, and my Master always knows how to write a good story. And you will have the best of stories with that Magi that starts with M."


    <blockquote>


    Perched between the enigmatic boundaries of Dream and Nightmare, the genesis of Mir-Grande-Carta has always evoked a sense of profound mystery. As an author who traffics in the currency of ideas, I find myself contemplating whether these realms are truly places one might visit or if they are simply constructs¡ªmetaphors for the polarities of good and evil that we wrestle with every day. The few travellers who claim to have ventured into these realms return with lips sealed, their experiences¡ªvisions of what might have been or what is yet to come¡ªlocked away. If dreams and nightmares are all what their name said or something else, it is a secret I don''t believe will ever unfold in this life nor the next. I know that if I was a passenger, I would never ever write a line about it. NEVER! ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0014] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    In my reign, as I burn over land, sea, and sky, I choose to be the Sun that fosters life, seeds stories and harvests the perpetual pursuit of happiness. I do not wish to scorch such world. However, I am power! And power is power, and it is neither good nor evil, it is what it is-power! ¡ª the Summerqueen, quote of the coronation official speech. XXXXIV Winter - XXII Summer


    </blockquote>


    In the vastness of the throne room, where opulent columns kissed the heights, Jaer''s gaze roved uneasily over the assembly. The diverse menagerie of creatures, each species with its own mark of status or power, unsettled him with their morbid eagerness for the spectacle to come.


    He stood there, a lone tiefling among the crowd, concerned with his Commander and but mostly friend. He hadn''t spoken to Yeso since their arrival.


    Without warning, Jaer was startled by a hand alighted on his shoulder, feather-light yet laden with intent. His pulse quickened already before he turned to face the owner of those discerning emerald eyes and ash-hued skin.


    There stood the Elven King, Finnegan Berdorf, a vision that could arrest the hearts of women and men who beheld him. He embodied an allure that transcended the stark boundaries between fear and desire.


    "Your Highness," Jaer managed, his voice a strained murmur as he fought the urge to drown in the depths of Finnegan''s gaze.


    The Elven king leaned in close, his breath a whisper that caressed Jaer''s ear. "Why didn''t you come to my chambers last night?"


    The words, dipped in honeyed tones, soured within Jaer''s mouth. He turned to meet the elf''s scrutinizing stare. "I came to accompany my Commander, and as you can see, my mind is preoccupied with other priorities," he stated with a stoic firmness.


    Finnegan''s eyes sparkled with mischief, a silent laughter at some private jest. "Well, perhaps later then. I heard he is not returning as early as you might think."


    Jaer''s brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"


    "Oh, you''ll see. Who am I to spoil the fun?" Finnegan''s words were a veiled omen wrapped in velvet. With a promise as enigmatic as it was unsettling, he added, "I''ll console you tonight. I''ll be gentle, I promise."


    And with the grace of autumn leaves, the Elven king departed from Jaer''s side. The court''s whispers died as a hush blanketed the throng, and a regality seemed to carve through the thick air.


    The Fallqueen claimed her throne, her black tunic trailing like the shadows of twilight. Her crown, a halo of crafted autumn leaves, rested upon her dark locks, framing her face with a symbolic echo of her dominion.


    The twins followed her and sat by her side¡ªFiorna, the Spring on the left and Fiona, the Winter on the right.


    Silence commanded the court as a white-robed officer, golden embroidery catching the eyes of all, stepped forward with a scroll that seemed a mere prop in his hands. His voice boomed.


    "On this day, in the court of Herbstdame Veilla Mageschstea, we convene to sentence Yeso Sternacht for conspiracy and disobedience against the Herbstdame. His sentence: to bear the shame of shorn hair."


    A collective gasp rippled through the assemblage, punctuated by murmurs. Hair, the pride of any Menschen lineage, symbolized their standing and power. The longer the hair, the more respect they had in their ranks. For a Magi who couldn''t braid its hair, it was a humiliation without words.


    Jaer''s gaze pierced through the crowd, landing on the forlorn sight of his friend Yeso. He watched, heart, lurching, as the servant''s shears mangled what once was a mane of starlit threads. Each snip and rip echoed like a verdict in Jaer''s ears. The finality of the falling lock, glinting with as starlight even in its severed state, was brandished before the crowd¡ªa triumph in their eyes, a grievous wound in his.


    But the depths of indignity had yet to be plumbed.


    The officer''s voice rose again, slicing through the murmurs. "For the murder of one hundred and two spiders, the cherished fragments of the Spider of the Shadows, beloved Spirit of our Herbstdame Veilla Mageschstea, Yeso Sternacht will be sentenced to a lashing for each life taken."


    As if on cue, a sickening cheer spilt from the onlookers, their thirst for retribution unsated. It was clear they wanted blood. Jaer''s stomach knotted, bile climbing his throat as he witnessed the unfurling of the punishment.


    Yeso''s once-proud wings lay defeated, sprawled on the cold floor. His body, stripped, now primed for the cruelty of the lash. The executioner''s grim task began¡ªone¡ªeach crack of the whip tolling like a bell for the spirits lost.


    Each lash of the executioner''s whip cut through the air, its sound reverberating pain in the room¡ªtwelve.


    With every strike, droplets of blue blood arced through the air¡ªthirty-four.


    The executioner moved with mechanical precision.


    Sixty-eight.


    The sound of his efforts, the almost musical rhythm of the whip and his laboured breathing intertwined with the subdued murmurs and gasps of the crowd¡ªninety-five.


    Yeso''s eyes were hidden through the blindfold, but not his resolve. No cry escaped his lips, and no flinch marred his bearing¡ªninety-eight.


    Jaer knew his friend clung to composure not just for his own sake but for all present. A lesser creature might have unleashed a solar fury in vengeance, scorching the onlookers with the sun''s wrath. But Yeso, even in his pain, remained the epitome of grace under duress¡ªembodying a nobility that transcended his physical form¡ªninety-nine.


    Jaer''s fists clenched with pride for his friend''s strength and a seething rage against the injustice. The lashing continued. Each whip sounded louder than the previous until it finally ended at one hundred and one.


    The final tally of the whip cracked through the air, the one hundred and second lash reverberated a harsh punctuation to the grim theatre that had unfolded. As the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers, Jaer''s body tensed, his every instinct screaming to rush forward, to be the solace in the wake of his friend''s agony.


    But then, a grip, unexpected and firm, seized his shoulder.


    "Don''t," Finnegan''s voice was a low murmur in his ear, a thread of caution amongst the clamour, "it''s not over yet."


    Jaer''s eyes, burning with anguish and fury, sought his friend again. The officer''s voice, cold and detached, delivered the next sentence: "For the crime of stealing the sun for forty-four days, Yeso Sternacht will be confined in solitude for the same duration, to partake in the darkness he so heedlessly bestowed upon us."


    "This is madness," Jaer breathed out the words like a curse, feeling the injustice slice into him as keenly as the lash had bitten into Yeso''s flesh.


    Finnegan''s voice was a dismissive breeze as he said, "It''s politics. Just a moon. Your Commander will endure."


    Jaer watched, powerless, as two guards hoisted Yeso''s battered form. Yeso''s wings trailed pitifully on the floor, his knees buckling, but not from the pain alone. It was the weight of betrayal, of justice perverted, that seemed to press down upon him the most.


    While Yeso was dragged out of Jaer''s sight, the cold marble of the palace was stained with blue blood under his bare foot. Yeso''s battered form moved with the shuffling pace of agony that rippled across his lacerated back. The guards at his flanks offered no support. They just gripped his arms with an impersonal force, ushering him forward, climbing each stair of Whitestone until the last floor, where they''d meet the tower, which was never habilitated.


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    The journey was a blur of pain and ghostly echoes until they reached their final destination. Yeso''s fogged senses sharpened at the sight that greeted him through his blindfold.


    Before him loomed a door, not of wood or stone, but of dark, polished steel, carved into the likeness of a full moon, resting ominously in the wall. Its surface drank in the light of the torches. The door was a monolith, dwarfing them all.


    With a coordinated dance of keys and levers, the guards unlocked the secrets of the metal moon. A heavy, metallic clunk vibrated through the air, making the giant wheel of a lever bow, and the bolts relented after what seemed an age of resistance.


    The door''s rotation was reluctant, groaning in its arc, releasing a cloud of dust motes that danced in the beam of light like tiny spectres. From the vault escaped an exhalation of emptiness.


    "Get in there, scum," grunted one of the guards.


    Yesos stumbled over the threshold. The heavy door swung back, metal scraping against stone, and closed with a thunderous clunk that seemed to swallow the last vestige of light. A metallic grind of keys and bolts sealed.


    As the echo faded, so did the light. Yeso slumped to the cold floor, his consciousness ebbing away like water seeping into the parched earth. The darkness, now complete, cradled him in its embrace as he surrendered to oblivion.


    Uncountable days passed in darkness. Yeso opened his eyes again; his tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. He had lost count of the days or maybe weeks since he had been locked in his confinement in a chamber¡ªa space laughably small compared to the grandeur of the palace. It was marked by the contradiction of the door: an imposing moon made of iron and steel for the tiniest room of all Whitestone Capitol.


    The room offered the barest nods to necessity: a narrow bed upon which he''d tossed and turned, a functional toilet, a basic shower, and a sink that had delivered water in reluctant drips. The window, a miserly sliver near the ceiling, taunted him with glimpses of a sky he could not touch.


    Taking a meagre two steps that the room allowed, Yeso felt the stretch in his cramped muscles, a dull ache that spoke of days spent in inertia. The walls soared above him, their expanse as blank and featureless as his days had become, save for the silent beckoning for something more¡ªstories, colour, life. He didn''t understand why.


    With a wince, he removed the blindfold, carefully concealing the shared bond with his Hexe that had now become both a blessing and curse. The absence of the fabric was a relief, albeit a brief one, as the air kissed the tender skin it had concealed.


    But since the pain in his back was mere stings, there was no reason for him to sever ties with the one he promised his forever.


    Approaching the small, steel-framed mirror, Yeso''s reflection was a ghost of his former self. His eyes had receded into darkened hollows. His lips were parched, cracked from dehydration and disuse, and his once-diamond hair now lay in uneven, jagged strands¡ªa mockery of the mane that had been his pride.


    Running a hand over his head, the unfamiliar texture of his cropped hair brought a grimace to his face. But it was swiftly replaced by surprise at the sight of a small figure reflected over his shoulder.


    Turning, he found a young girl sitting on the bed, her silhouette small and hunched, her hair a patchwork of jagged cuts and troubling wounds that marred her scalp. Blue blood, stark against the faded linens, seeped from the cuts. Each drop was a scream of the torture she had endured¡ªa torture that, it seemed, made his experience look like child''s play.


    She traced with her fingers over the walls, which now were filled with scratches, words from different tongues, some in Menschen, others in Human, and some chillingly inscribed like the blue blood that dripped from her wounds. Her voice was halting as she read the wall, her pronunciation stumbling over the foreign term, "I... Yeso... Com-ah-Dre...Coma-dre."


    Yeso''s instinct was to offer correction, to teach as he had always done. Still, the moment was shattered by the heavy door wheel grinding into motion. The final clang reverberated through the tiny chamber, sealing the fate of the moment.


    The girl''s head snapped towards the door, her pain momentarily forgotten, her voice ringing out with a hopeful, "Ja-Ja!"


    Yeso felt a primal urge to shrink away, to become a wraith within these walls, and as Jaer entered, it seemed as though his wish was granted. He was unseen, unfelt, a spectre in his own cell. Yeso wondered, was he dreaming again?


    Jaer, with his mane greying at the temples, betraying the march of time, had also a strange golden infinity time carved between his eyebrow. He approached with a warmth in his voice that belied the coldness of the room. "Hey, my little sunbeam, how are you?"


    The girl''s response came readily, a lie delivered with a smile so genuine it masked the ocean of pain behind it. "I''m fine," she said. Her pride swelled as she reported her wins, "She failed one hundred and two counts."


    "One hundred and two counts over?" Jaer probed, his curiosity tinged with a darker edge.


    "Over one thousand and two hundred," she replied, her voice almost buoyant with a tragic sort of pride.


    The smile that had briefly danced on Jaer''s lips vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he sat heavily beside her. The weight of what those numbers represented¡ªa tally of resilience against a backdrop of suffering¡ªseemed to press upon him, bending his posture as he settled next to the child on the bed that was her arena of pain.


    At that moment, Yeso felt a surge of protectiveness for the young girl. Her strength was remarkable, her spirit unbroken despite the cruel trials she had been subjected to. But who was she?


    "Show me," Jaer demanded.


    The young girl''s smile faltered. "I''m fine, Ja-Ja!"


    "Show me, please."


    "I''m fine, there is no need¡­"


    "Don''t talk back," Jaer''s rebuke was stern, yet when she turned her back gently toward him, his tone softened, tinged with paternal care. "Pull up your shirt."


    The girl complied, her slender fingers trembling as she lifted the fabric. Jaer''s face, along with Yeso''s unseen gaze, was stricken by the sight. It was not just the fresh, angry wounds that gripped their hearts with horror but the grotesque, sprawling scars that traversed her back. Someone had cruelly stripped and cut her of her Menschen wings, the birthright of her kind. Who would dare to do such?


    "I will send a healer to check on those," he said as if the words could somehow undo the tapestry of scars that adorned the girl''s back.


    "I''m fine," the girl repeated.


    "You are not fine, Eura! You need a healer. Otherwise, you can get an infection or¡­"


    "I''m fine, I''m used to it."


    In the corner of the cell, unseen, Yeso felt a twinge in his heart, a sympathetic pang that resonated with Jaer''s visible heartache. The notion that any being, let alone a young girl, should grow accustomed to such brutality was anathema to him.


    How long had she been held captive in this forsaken place? What was the crime, the circumstance, or the cruel whim that led to her imprisonment? Questions spiralled in Yeso''s mind, each more poignant than the last. Why was Jaer here in Whitestone? And what of his own people?


    Jaer drew her close, turning her face to his. Tears traced lines down his weathered cheeks. Yeso, from his spectral vantage point, was moved by the sight¡ªnever before had he seen his friend allow such vulnerability to surface.


    "I''m fine, Ja-Ja, I promise." She cradled his face, her forehead pressed against his. "She will not break me. She will never enslave me! The pain is my blade! I am the sun who burns over land, sea, and sky!"


    A kiss was placed gently upon her brow, a tender blessing. Then, Jaer revealed a hidden book from within his robe. "I do have something for you..."


    Her eyes lit up with anticipation, a spark of joy amidst the gloom. "Oh boy! Oh boy! Is that? Is it?"


    "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Volume Two by..." Jaer teased, drawing out the moment.


    "Professor Edgar Duvencrune!" she exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.


    "That''s the one!"


    He opened the book to reveal passages marked with deliberate lines. "It''s not censored! You can even see the real name of the author here."


    "Orlo Yeso Sternacht!" The girl''s voice held reverence and awe as she read out the name. Her eyes, wide with realization, then lifted to meet Yeso''s own. "Orlo¡­"


    Yeso''s return to consciousness was abrupt, his senses assaulted by the harsh light coming from the ceiling and the relentless throbbing in his back. Wincing, he pushed himself upright, his hand instinctively going to his head, finding his hair still oddly short, the tactile memory a dissonant echo of his dreamscape encounter.


    The bed upon which he had been lying was stained with the evidence of his wounds. His gaze swept across the room. The walls were barren¡ªnone of the desperate etchings or blue blood remained, just the cold, unforgiving surfaces of his cell.


    Dropping to his knees, Yeso searched the floor, fingers seeking the hidden crevice he remembered. His hand brushed against a broken fragment of stone beneath the bed¡ªa small victory.


    With painstaking care, he wedged the shard of stone from its resting place. Stripping off his shirt, he revealed his back, a landscape of dried blood and the shadows of healed wounds. The act of unfurling his wings was an agony.


    But Yeso endured, his wings stretching to span the limited space, touching each wall with the tips. Despite the pain, he rose into the air and ascended to the ceiling, his wings beating with a laboured grace.


    The window, a weak point in his prison, would have been an obvious escape¡ªbut escape was not his intent. He had a different purpose.


    Yeso, with the stone in hand, approached the blank wall. He scratched the surface: "I am Yeso, I am the Commander..." he etched deeply, envisioning her tracing these same letters with small, blood-stained fingers. "You are not forgotten." The wall seemed to whisper back, an echo of his silent promise to a young girl who was yet to be born. "¡­Eura."


    <blockquote>


    Occasionally, I must pause in my writing, leaning back in my chair to ponder the lives and beings that inhabit my pages. My words are born from testimonies whispered in confidence or inked on the letters that journey across the Great Continent to reach my desk. They paint a picture of a world vibrant with magic and shadow, a world I navigate through narrative, not experience.


    My parents are two such phantoms¡ªfigures I know only through the stories told and retold by others. I often find myself contemplating whether I am the son they had hoped for. Have I grown into a man who honours their legacy, or have I strayed from their envisioned path? In striving to be my best self, I hope that my words, the stories I weave, might serve as a testament to my efforts. Yet, it''s an odd sentiment, this aching sense of loss for two souls I never had the chance to know. Can one truly miss those one who doesn¡¯t remember? It''s a question that lingers in the quiet moments between my lines, unanswered. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0015] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Green Mother, full of grace, blessed your Spirit among the blood of Tree, the blood of Sea and the Blood of Sky and blessed is the fruit of your womb, the Seed. Holy Mother, pray for us sinners, now and protect us from the hour of our crimson death. Mir aceito es fado. ¡ªPrayer to the Green Mother


    </blockquote>


    Jear''s breaths came in heavy gasps, creating a rhythmic symphony of exhaustion and contentment. Finnegan, an epitome of grace even in the most mundane of moments, slid from the tangled sheet of their bed to fetch a cup of water. As the morning light danced across his pale, bare, sweated skin, he allowed a silk robe to drape across one shoulder, an afterthought to modesty.


    With an absent-mindedness born of distraction, the Elven King brought the chalice to his lips, his gaze not on the water but lost somewhere in the middle distance. Jear, meanwhile, turned over, his own gaze obscured as he buried his face into the cool expanse of the pillow, seeking refuge from the thoughts that pursued him.


    They had remained secluded in that room for days, the air heavy with the lingering scent of sex. Neither the tiefling nor the elf found the willpower to part ways. Since their first meeting, there had been an undeniable pull between them, a connection so intense that they found it impossible to let go of each other. Thoughts that spoke louder than intended between them.


    "Please tell me you''re not brooding over him again," Finnegan''s voice was a teasing lilt, a delicate thread of amusement weaving through the air, but still, he rolled his eyes. "I''m starting to be a little jealous, you know."


    Jear''s response was muffled by the pillow before he lifted his head, eyes casting about for the elf. "It''s been two weeks," he muttered, the weight of each hour apart settling like lead in his chest.


    The Elven King let out a soft chuckle, returning to the bedside. "Only a couple more to go, my dear. I fail to see your conundrum. He lives, and before long, you will both traverse back to that wretched human territory. And it gives us plenty of time to entertain ourselves."


    "It''s a settlement," Jear corrected, propping himself up on his elbows, defiance igniting in his tone.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The wretched territory is a settlement,¡± Jaer corrected him, again.


    "A monstrosity," Finnegan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I cannot fathom why you insist on meddling with the Menschen and humans!"


    Jear sat up straight, his back a rigid line of tension. "You do realize I''m one of the Menschen," he said, the words edged with a sharpness that betrayed his affront.


    The corners of Finnegan''s mouth curled into an affectionate smirk as he stepped closer, his hand tenderly coaxing Jear''s chin upward. "No, my dear, you are an enigma cloaked in the guise of perfection, and your blood runs a shade of pretty unlike any I''ve ever seen. But that is what it is, pretty."


    Jear felt the urge to pull away, to preserve a shred of indignation, but the elf''s lips captured his in an unspoken promise, a seduction that made words superfluous. "Come with me," Finnegan whispered against his mouth, an invitation that was both a balm and a bind. ¡°Jaer, come with me to Pollux.¡±


    It was not the first time the Elven King, Finnegan Berdorf, had extended to his lover to forsake the world beyond and stay ensconced in the splendour of his Pollux Palace.


    The air between Jear and Finnegan crackled, charged with a tension that seemed to tug at the very fabric of the room. Jear''s eyes held a storm brewing. "You know I can''t," he said.


    "Why not?" Finnegan''s voice had lost its playful edge, "All I ask is for you to love me, but you insist you choose loyalty to a man who would never do the things I do for you," he argued, his hands grasping the back of Jaer¡¯s neck, pulling him even closer. "Come with me!"


    Jear''s response came with a heavy sigh: "You do understand that Yeso and I... we''re like brothers. There''s no malice in it," he attempted to clarify, though his words seemed to hang, half-hearted, in the thickening atmosphere.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Then stop acting like you''re his fucking second wife!" Finnegan''s response was a swift surge of movement, hands finding Jear''s shoulders and pushing him gently but firmly back against the soft give of the bed. "Come with me!"


    "Why?"


    "Because I want you," Finnegan declared, the words resonating with a raw honesty that was impossible to ignore. ¡°I want you, and I love you. What other reason should I have?¡±


    "And you''ll just hide me away in your royal bedroom forever?" Jear challenged with scepticism.


    "It¡¯s a plan like any other," Finnegan whispered, his weight over Jaer¡¯s chest while his warm breath caressed the tieflings''s lips, the distance between them nearly nonexistent. "Why? Is the idea so awful?" the elf asked, his voice dropping to a husky murmur as he allowed his teeth to graze the distinctive red skin of Jear''s lips, a daring intimacy that threatened to unravel Jear''s resolve that was on the precipice to break.


    The tension simmered like a silent storm on the horizon, felt in every glance, every breath shared between the two men. Jear''s body tensed, an instinctive recoil as Finnegan closed the distance between them with a purpose that made the air thrum with its moans.


    "And why are you here?" Jaers was still able to ask but hardly.


    "To see you," Finnegan replied smoothly, his body rolling next to Jear''s on the bed, a fluid motion that was as provocative as it was deliberate. ¡°What other reason would I have if it¡¯s not about you?¡±


    Jear''s eyes narrowed, searching Finnegan''s face. "You didn''t know I would come. What are you hiding?"


    "If you must pry," Finnegan sighed, his facade of indifference slipping slightly. "I''ve been offered a marriage contract."


    "With whom?" Jear''s question was sharp, a demand more than an inquiry.


    "Why does it matter ''who?''"


    "I don''t know... maybe it''s because you''ve spent the past several days declaring your love for me! Saying you love me and you want me to come with you! But now you''re on the verge of marrying another. So excuse me, yes, I''m left wondering," Jaer remarked, visibly annoyed.


    "Please, don''t make it complicated when it¡¯s not. She''s a woman with tits! There''s little she''ll gain from me. I don¡¯t even think I can get it hard," the Elven King replied with disdain hidden behind a chuckle, trying to alleviate the tension. "You have nothing to be concerned about, my dear," he added, attempting to reassure Jaer.


    "Will you accept it?" Jear pressed, his curiosity morphing into concern.


    "Of course, I will," declared the Elven King, his still tone nonchalant, though his eyes betrayed a complexity of emotions that belied his usual stoic facade. "It''s a suitable arrangement for the church, and the other party''s interests align with mine. She will stay in Whitestone, and I will remain in Pollux. A situation that is beneficial to both parties. So, you see, you can come with me. Even my future wife would have no objections," he said, chuckling, his hand resting casually yet suggestively on Jaer''s leg while his fingers lingered up and down, barely touching the skin, just a simple tease.


    Jaer looked at him, the concept hanging oddly in the air. "So you came to find a bride?"


    "Yes," Finnegan replied, his gaze intense, following Jaer¡¯s mouth, neck, and torso down to his sex, his fingers subtly playing with the lack of discretion of the tiefling''s erection. "To produce an heir. Not necessarily of my own bloodline but to carry on my name. The lineage of the child matters little to me, but where I place my own cum..." he trailed off, his approach becoming more direct, ¡°That¡¯s another story.¡±


    Jaer observed Finnegan closely, his face betraying no emotion. "You''re really serious about this?"


    "Completely," Finnegan assured him. "With the public''s attention on my marriage, they''ll overlook who I choose to spend my nights with." He leaned in and pressed his lips against Jaer''s, showing his boredom towards the subject of their conversation.


    In a smooth and deliberate movement, Finnegan turned Jare around, pushing the red tail aside and positioned himself over him, their proximity leaving no room for ambiguity. "So, I ask you once more, come with me. Be by my side."


    "Finnegan..." Jaer''s response was a blend of hesitation and longing, but he also had a hard time answering his demands when all he could feel was the Elven King''s primal advances, yet it was evident that Finnegan was resolute in his pursuit.


    "Love me, only me," the elf whispered, his teeth finding and pulling Jear''s ear in a passionate claim, his words sealed with a kiss that drew them both into a whirlpool of desire. They lost themselves to the sensation, to the heat of their entwined forms, the rest of the world falling away under the weight of their shared surrender. But it was that, and thinking this was more than pleasure and sex, was a delusion Jaer carried most of his life.


    ¡°Say you love me!¡± Those were the words the Elven King begged, but those words were never answered. Jaer only told them to one creature in his entire life.


    <blockquote>


    Many traded their traditional Black Robes for new White Cloaks, aligning with a novel elite group under a different Dame. This shift was intended to forsake ancient traditions and values, yet over time, some of these Mages even strayed from the foundational Principles of the Trial of Elements, <s>losing their esteemed Magi titles to those who remained loyal to the Black Robes. Amidst this transition, Magi Redfred Dagurstea was a notable exception. He steadfastly refused both the white cloak and the convention of wearing shoes. In a time marked by change, Redfred''s adherence to his original ways stood as a quiet but powerful statement of his unyielding commitment to the traditional values of the Magi. I am still puzzled to this day how he survived during Winter.</s> ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0016] - The Uncrowded King

    <blockquote>


    Magistea


    Mah-gihs-tea-ah


    Type: Noun


    Definition: "Magistea" refers to a sacred and rigorous ritual of the Menschen, serving as a rite of passage for mages aspiring to ascend to the esteemed status of Magi. This trial tests the participants'' mastery over the elemental forces and their ability to integrate these powers with Spirits and ethical insights.


    Cultural/Contextual Background: The structure of the Magistea has evolved under the guidance of various architects of the ritual, with the most renowned version being the "Trial of Elements" led by Headmaster Magi Mediah, who followed the teachings of Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune. The trial''s length is not fixed, potentially spanning from a few moons to an entire Winter if not more, depending on the individual mage''s progress and depth of understanding. Historically, the Trial consisted of a continuous process but was later structured into nine distinct disciplines, each spanning one moon, commencing after the first summer of its formal inception. The Magistea not only marks a mage''s formal transition into a Magi but also deeply influences their philosophical and magical perspective, molding them into Battlemages, leaders, officers, commanders and scholars who are respected and revered across the land.


    </blockquote>


    Redfred''s mind and spirit were in endless conflict with the recent event of Yeso''s trial. An unfair verdict!!


    He found himself lost in the musty scent of old paper, wandering in the vast archive chambers located in the Magi Sector. The aisles were filled with rows upon rows of forsaken files, reports, and manifests from past Trials of Elements.


    He roamed these halls leisurely; however, Redfred was too distracted to get fully immersed in one of these manuscripts. The Trial of Yeso lingered in his thoughts, a sour note of injustice. Despite their differing political views, Redfred felt nothing else than respect towards his Master, Yeso Sternach, a shared code of honour. The Commander''s commitment to value life above anything else, whether on land, sea, or sky, resonated deeply with him.


    He shook his head slightly, his expression turning grim as he thought of Yeso''s unjust downfall¡ªa fall that seemed more the result of personal vendetta than any real failing. To Redfred, this wasn''t just an attack on Yeso; it was a betrayal of the core values of the Magis Order, values that the Herbstdame, with her lack of the black robe''s wisdom, could never fully grasp.


    Her actions were unworthy of her title. To Redfred, she was no longer a true Dame, at least not his Dame. One way or another, he would restore Yeso''s honour to right the wrongs of a biased verdict. To return the Menschen to their true glory!


    A sudden sharp, cold wind sliced through the silence, pricking at his skin and raising goosebumps that made him glance up. The sun had retreated, yielding the sky to the nine moons which bathed the chamber.


    His bare feet flinched from the sudden chill seeping up from the stone floor, and he pulled his robes tighter around him. Redfred peered into the quiet between the shelves, seeking the source of the cold.


    He ventured down the aisle with measured steps, his ears straining for any sign of life. A high-pitched giggle, light and haunting, stopped him in his tracks.


    There, amidst the shadows, stood the Winter.


    White crystal hair framed a pale face, and piercing blue eyes regarded him with an intensity that belied her youth. She wore a tunic of the purest white, her presence devoid of colour except for the startling blue of her eyes. Rumours had whispered through the corridors of Veilla''s twin daughters, and recognition dawned on Redfred. Fiona.


    "You grace..." he began, the formality struggling against his chattering teeth.


    The girl regarded him with a gaze that seemed to cut sharper than the wind. "You should use shoes... to keep you warm," she advised, lowering her gaze to his feet. She spoke with a clear and devoided tone of any warmth.


    Redfred''s nod was but a courteous bob, a surface gesture that masked the whirl of contemplation within him. Fiona''s words echoed the chill in the air, running opposite to the traditions of the Menschen, who honoured the elements through the touch of bare skin to earth.


    "Indeed, I shall heed your advice, my lady," he replied, his breath misting in the cold air.


    Redfred''s teeth chattered not solely from the cold but from the daunting presence before him. He was a man who had faced the scrutiny of the court and the puzzles of politics, yet the small figure swathed in white unsettled him more deeply than any cryptic blueprint of war. Redfred was afraid.


    "I will consider it next time," he managed to articulate, repeating himself, though his voice quivered with an unease he couldn''t quite explain. But he knew it was more than just about shoes.


    "There will be no next time. You will do as I said." The command was resonating with the weight of long authority.


    Redfred bristled at the thinly veiled threat, his pride stung. "As I said, I will consider it," he retorted, attempting to cloak his fear with defiance.


    The girl''s eyes seemed to penetrate him, reading his innermost thoughts. "Don''t you want your house to stand in the Dame court? Dagurstea should be a name of nobility and respect. That is your goal, isn''t it, Magi? Instead, it''s a sheep name following the footsteps of a primitive baboon with pixie dust ideology," Her words sliced through the air, each syllable a chisel shaping the cold reality of his situation, "You agree with me, don''t you?"


    Redford, though not much younger than Yeso, had traversed the complexities of social labyrinths, mingling with the artful elves and cunning humans alike. The aroma of conspiracy was one he knew well¡ªthe scent of a coup d''¨¦tat in the making. Was it this he had been wishing between these bookshelves?


    In this quiet chamber, the gravity of his choice weighed on him. But as he looked at Fiona, with her frost-touched hair and eyes like shards of the winter sky, he reminded himself she was just barely a woman.


    But that was not the story that unfolded.


    "I wish to follow the path of the Trial of Element and to harvest honour for the Dagurstea through my Black Robe," he stated, his voice carefully modulated to betray neither reluctance nor eagerness.


    Fiona responded with a smirk, a subtle yet unmistakable display of her confidence and control over the situation. "You have been summoned," she declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "And I don''t accept no as an answer. Bring the boy; the more, the merrier." Her words were like a decree, an edict that sealed his fate.


    He had no choice.


    With a turn of her back, Fiona began to walk away, her departure changing the very atmosphere of the chamber. As the distance between them grew, a peculiar warmth seemed to fill the space she vacated. It was as if her presence had been a cold front, her departure allowing the room to return to a more natural state. Winter leaving.


    Redfred watched her leave, a myriad of thoughts racing through his mind. The implications of her words, "Bring the boy," echoed ominously. It was clear she was mentioning Muru.


    Muru, like himself, came from a legacy¡ªthe Ann. It became increasingly clear to Redfred that Fiona''s strategy was to methodically gather individuals linked to influential surnames, those who carried significant weight within their communities, politics, and the intricacies of court life.


    She was fortifying her position, weaving a web of alliances that could sway the tides of power in her favour.


    Yet, as Redfred pondered this realization, a sense of unease crept into his thoughts. Change was indeed on the horizon, and he had yearned for the last weeks, but this shift in the delicate balance of power had a taste of vile and corruption.


    Was he ready to be a cog in Fiona''s machinations, a pawn in her ambitious game to reshape the political landscape?


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    After a few days, the Magi received a letter. Redfred found himself holding an official invitation addressed to both him and Muru. The elegant script on the parchment left no room for doubt; it was a summons that could not be ignored. Redfred knew, for his safety and his proteg¨¦, there was no alternative but to accept. The wheels set in motion by Fiona''s ambitions left little space for dissent.


    And so, both Redfred and Muru found themselves journeying to a place far removed from the grandeur and opulence they were accustomed to the last weeks.


    They ventured into a ramshackle neighbourhood, a stark contrast to the Capitol''s affluence. This part of the city, with its narrow, winding streets and dilapidated buildings, squatted almost apologetically in the looming shadow of the Capitol''s splendour.


    The neighbourhood was a patchwork of cramped houses and makeshift stalls, the air filled with the sounds of daily struggle and the faint echoes of forgotten dreams. It was a place where the harsh realities of the true Ormburg life were laid bare, a stark reminder of the disparities that existed just a stone''s throw from the seat of power.


    Redfred, with his broad shoulders cloaked in a black mantle, glanced at Muru, whose youthful face flickered with doubt under the hood that concealed his dark red hair. They slipped through the doorway of the designated place, and the oppressive weight of the building''s silence enveloped them with guilt¡ªand treason.


    Within the cavernous room, a dim oil lamp cast elongated shadows across the gathering¡ªa macabre dance of figures drawn from every corner of society. The hushed tones of the congregation blended into a single, susurrating entity, betraying a unity formed not by commonality but by shared greed and prejudice.


    Redfred''s gaze swept over the assembly. A Magi unknown, cloaked and enigmatic, traded hushed words with a stern-faced Noble whose fingers idly traced the hilt of a concealed blade. An emissary from a far district shrouded in anonymity provided by the room''s penumbra watched the gathering with sharp, calculating eyes.


    In this den of treason, identities were guarded as fiercely as the cause they championed. Redford could feel the pulse of peril in the room; they were all acutely aware that beyond these walls, the Herbstdame''s justice wouldn¡¯t protect them. But they were all men with power, if not magic, then coin, influence and politics. This was a crowd needed by any ruler to be on their good side.


    Redfred''s gaze landed on Muru. His brow creased with concern. Muru, whose innocence still clung to him despite his convictions. Redfred saw the internal conflict playing out behind the young man''s eyes¡ªthe ideals of segregation clashing with the reality of his experiences among the halflings.


    The atmosphere had been taut with the electricity of whispered rebellion, but as a silence descended, it grew so thick it could have been cut with the ceremonial daggers some attendees bore at their belts. A chill followed as though the very air had recoiled from what was about to unfold.


    Fiona Mageschstea emerged like a wraith from the shadows, her young face etched with an authority that belied her years. She stood before the hushed crowd, her small frame clothed in a heavy cloak that seemed to swallow her whole. Yet, despite her youth, there was a gravity to her that anchored all eyes upon her.


    Her attempt at a smile was a contorted thing, failing to touch the icy glint in her eyes. It was a smile that did not invite warmth; it demanded respect and fear.


    "Thank you for all of you being present," her voice cut through the crowd as ice. "Today is the day of change. The day we choose our people over their people. We choose to be Menschen and not to submit to others. We claim order, and we claim it now! To separate our nation, Ormgrund, from what drags us down. Flocks of weakness usurping our magic. We are magic! And have the audacity to chase us down! Enough! Enough to bend to lesser creatures. Enough!"


    Fiona paused, her gaze sweeping across her captive audience. "My mother has served her people well but long enough, and it is clear she is tired. After all, she will be a mother again. It is time for us to aid her in her mission. To lead our people to prosperity and not just temporarily¡ªnot a feeble attempt but with a firm hand! It time we to take Ormgrund as ours! To take it far away from the Great Continent!"


    "She speaks of division,¡± Muru''s whisper was almost lost beneath the murmurs of agreement that began to swell around them. ¡°Redfred... of severing ties... is she suggesting what I think she is?"


    Redfred nodded.


    She was the flame igniting the kindling of unrest, and it seemed the fire was catching fast. "She speaks of a future," he murmured back, "with no weak blood, with no humans. With nothing."


    Muru''s voice, even whispering, spoke angrily: ¡°No! She is talking about cutting the continent! Literally! Don¡¯t you hear it?¡±


    A solitary but brave hand cleaved through the murk of tension that hung over the gathered crowd. Fiona paused, her fervour momentarily arrested by the interruption. The weight of her gaze drew the room to a breathless standstill.


    "Speak," she commanded, her tone a blade of ice itself.


    Their voice emerged from the throng, less assertive than the hand that had heralded it. "I think I speak for many when¡­ when you speak of division¡ªare you speaking to sever the map in two? I mean, geologically? This could cause natural catastrophe with¡­ with no precedent! This could be the End of Times!"


    Whispers spread like ripples across the crowd, a sea of unease and curiosity.


    "Yes," Fiona responded, the word cutting the whispers short. "We are the chosen ones. We are magic! We have more than enough resources to build a world far away from any faux little red crown. If they don''t bend their knees facing their superior, why should we still be their neighbour? And if nature replies to my cry, it will separate the weak from the strong. It''s simple."


    "What about those that have their lives in the Great Continent? What about trading and exchange of technology? What about the ley li¡ª"


    The words fractured under the sudden eruption of ice. Fiona, with a flick of her wrist, had summoned a crystalline shard, launching it towards the man who dared question her vision. It struck with a deadly precision, bursting his head into a cloud of frozen blue blood mist.


    For a moment, the room was caught in a macabre snow globe, where what floated down was not snow, but the remnants of rebellion turned to slaughter.


    Silence once again claimed dominion, as the grim spectacle of power served as a gruesome punctuation to Fiona''s message. Fear, raw and unadorned, seeped into the marrow of everyone present. The message was clear: dissent would not merely be silenced; it would be annihilated.


    Redfred felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sorcery in the air. He exchanged a fleeting look with Muru, seeing his own horror mirrored in the young man''s eyes. They had come seeking allies in a cause for justice, but what they had found was a darkness that threatened to swallow their principles whole.


    As the echoes of shattered ice settled, Fiona''s voice resumed, now edged with an unmistakable warning. "Let this be a lesson to anyone who would question our path. Our cause is unity, but it is unity for the pure, the powerful, and the deserving¡ªthe Chosen! We will carve a new order from the old, and none shall stand in my way."


    The room, a tableau of shock and fear, offered no further protest. The consequences of defiance lay too starkly before them, glittering in the dim light like the frost of a winter''s dawn.


    "However, even I understand that we do have allies in the Great Continent," Fiona acknowledged, her voice as smooth as the surface of a frozen lake. "Allies that are not interested in living in our lands, in usurping our gifts! As we are not interested in living in theirs. Who have nothing to offer. Nevertheless, allies," she declared, the word was carrying a weight of grudging respect.


    ¡°The high elves of S?grestein, the wardens of the Spirit of the Dual-Headed Fish," she intoned, invoking a reverence that seemed to resonate with the collective understanding of her audience.


    Then, with a deliberate pause that felt as though she were drawing the attention of the very stars above, she invited the tall figure to join her. As he turned, his face coming into view from the shadow of the room, a collective gasp rippled through the assembled crowd. Recognition dawned, followed by the stir of awe and disbelief.


    Finnegan Berdorf, the Elven King, renowned for his ethereal beauty and unfathomable age, stepped forward. His presence was like a balm to the raw fear that Fiona''s prior act of violence had sown. And yet, the implications of what was unfolding held a tension all their own.


    "The Elven King and I will seal our alliance by marriage," Fiona announced, her voice imbued with a triumph that left the room thrumming with the magnitude of the revelation. "Our frontiers will be severed forever, but our link will protect us from our common enemies, the Red Bloods, the disease of mortality."


    This last proclamation raised many questions that no one dared to speak out loud. Redfred felt Muru''s hand clutch at his own, a silent communion of uncertainty and shock.


    Fiona''s gaze swept over her rapt audience, and for a moment, Redfred saw in her eyes the glint of something beyond her years¡ªa gleam of conquest, of empires reshaped and histories rewritten. What he saw was the new world order being drawn by the hands of a spoiled child who wielded her youth as both shield and spear.


    The once-muted whispers swelled into fervent cheers. The assembly united in their craving for change¡ªat any price.


    Amid the clamour, Redfred knew that opposition could not be brazen. Raw defiance would see him join the ranks of the silenced, a frost-covered statue in Fiona''s crystal garden of order. No, his resistance must be subtler, more strategic. He was a weaver of words and a dancer in the dark masquerade of politics. He would carve a path through this winter.


    "Redfred, can we go, please?" Muru''s eyes searched Redfred''s, wide and reflecting a sea of turmoil. His plea was a whisper against the storm of applaus.


    Redfred placed a hand on Muru''s shoulder¡ªa gesture both comforting and firm. "I''m afraid we need to stay... I''m afraid now we need to fight from the shadow. This war is not yet lost."


    <blockquote>


    The marriage between Finnegan Berdorf, the Elven King, and Fiona Mageschstea, the Winterqueen, remains an curious chapter in history. Public knowledge of their union was scarce; the two were never seen together, their relationship existing more as a tantalizing rumour than a confirmed fact but still documented and officially sealed. This air of secrecy extended to the speculation that they might have had a child¡ªa notion veiled in even greater mystery. Their marriage, devoid of the usual public fanfare and visibility, has left historians and the populace alike to speculate. This child, shrouded in mystery, was first introduced to society at the age of seventeen. However, during this unveiling, the Elven Princess¡¯s face was concealed behind a mask, further fuelling speculation and rumours about the peculiar union of her parents. The mask, rather than offering clarity, only added to the intrigue surrounding their unconventional marital contract tale. But a mask that would be broken on the 22th birthday of the Princess Eura Berdorf.¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. II by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0017] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Custa


    Koos-tah


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: "Custa" is used in a literal sense to refer to coins and money in economic transactions. Metaphorically, it extends to the value attributed to an individual''s existence or actions. The term embodies the idea that worth is both assigned and inherent, and like currency, it can be exchanged, saved, or invested in the potential of oneself or others.


    </blockquote>


    The objects before Xendrix lay silently on the table, each one a symbol, a riddle, a piece of a larger puzzle that he seemed desperately trying to solve. His gaze focused, then moved from one to the other, seeking the connection, the deeper meaning that eluded him.


    The cup, a vessel of water, was clear to him. He explained it back to Mediah with no problem. It was more than just an element; it symbolised life, the nurturing and healing essence that flowed through all things. Water was the mother, the giver and the sustainer of life. He understood its significance, its place in the grand scheme of the elements.


    Next, his eyes lingered on the dry branch. And once again, he was able, with his own words, to describe to the Magi. It was the personification of transformation. Something that illustrated a body which was once whole but now severed, yet still potent. A branch could become fuel for fire, a destructive force, yet it was a force that could never exist in isolation. The fire needed other elements and other allies to realise its true potential. The branch was a reminder that if in separation, there was no strength, it was a dormant power awaiting to be ignited.


    The sword, forged in fire, was the antithesis of the branch. It was solitary strength, a weapon that could attack, destroy, but also, when wielded with intent, protect. The metal, shaped by flame, hammer and water, was a testament to the natural diversity of earth¡ªdestructive, yet capable of crafting defences, of guarding as fiercely as it ravaged.


    But the coin... the coin seemed to be an enigma to Xendrix''s mind. The prince was trying to grasp its connection to air and its significance in this array of elements. He turned it, seeking an angle he hadn''t considered, a perspective that would shed light on its mysterious role.


    Finally, he surrendered to the riddle, his voice defeated. "I''m sorry, Mediah... I don''t get it," he admitted, his gaze lifting to meet the Magi seated across from him.


    "The coin," Mediah continued, "is a vessel for value, much like the cup is for water. It''s not about the physical form but about what it represents and what it carries. Value, like air, is everywhere and nowhere. It''s what we breathe into things that gives them worth. A coin can be spent, saved, or given away. It''s mutable, always in motion, like the air around us."


    Xendrix''s brow furrowed. He grasped the coin and held it tighter as if, by sheer will, he could transmute its meaning into something he could comprehend.


    "And when you give something value, you charge it with energy," Mediah said, watching Xendrix closely. "That energy can build like a gentle breeze into a gust, or it can stir up a tempest. The coin, therefore, is not just currency. It''s potential. It''s the breath behind the words, the force behind the movement, the intention behind the action. It is as powerful as a storm and as gentle as a breeze."


    Xendrix''s gaze remained fixed on Mediah, eyes wide, the way a child gazes upon the world.


    The young Magi leaned forward, "As I told you before, forget the objects; they are just temporary forms and shapes. They don''t matter. The meaning does.¡±


    The Prince''s fingers fidgeted with the coin, "I don''t see it like this. I''m trying, Mediah, but what I can see inside my head is how these objects can be used. I can visualise the cup, the branch, and the sword. But the coin is a coin. I can''t see it travelling through the wind or causing storms... it''s just a coin that allows me to buy something. And not much."


    Mediah, sensing his struggle, buried his face in his hands, elbows planted firmly on the table. "I''m failing you," he simply confessed.


    "You?"


    "Yes, Xendrix. You are like a blind man that I''m trying to guide through the forest and back, but alone. You don''t have magic. You cannot see the flow of magic or feel it... and I''m trying to make you understand, to help you see, and I don''t know how."


    "Maybe it is impossible," Xendrix murmured, fidgeting the coin in the air.


    Mediah lifted his head, his eyes meeting Xendrix''s. "Yeso wouldn''t promise if it was," he said firmly, "Let''s keep on trying, please."


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "Brought some snacks!"


    The tent flap billowed as Ulencia entered, her presence a sudden but welcome interruption. She carried with her the humble offerings of dry biscuits and fresh water, which she placed on the table.


    "Thank you!" Xendrix''s attention immediately shifted. The biscuits, though a welcome distraction, paled in comparison to Ulencia''s presence. Mediah noticed Xendrix''s gaze away from anything else besides Ulencia.


    Each day, Xendrix showed a liking to the girl that was growing into something deeper, something Mediah found himself increasingly unable to ignore.


    Ulencia''s smile was an echo of warmth as she watched Xendrix eagerly devour the food. She then turned to Mediah, her expression shifting to one of concern. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she broached the subject that seemed to linger in the air around them like a silent fog. "Do you know where Noctavia went?"


    "She said she would go hunting. Why?" Mediah''s response was casual, the question seemingly innocuous.


    "She has acted strangely the last couple of days," Ulencia confided, her brow creased with worry.


    "Can you blame her? We haven''t heard of Yeso for half a moon," Mediah replied.


    "I don''t know... I''m worried," Ulencia admitted.


    "I think hunting will get her mind off... everything." Mediah said, trying to offer some reassurance.


    "Do you know where she hunts?"


    Mediah''s response was to gently disengage her hand from his shoulder and hold it in his own. "Noctavia is powerful; it''s not some boars that will intimidate her. It''s more the other way around. If I were you, I would be worried for those poor piglets."


    "What are Noctavia''s powers?" Xendrix interrupted with his mouth full, his voice garbled as he quickly gulped down the water, breaking the pesky ambience that had been forming between Mediah and Ulencia.


    Despite this interruption, the Magi maintained a gentle hold on her hands.


    Ulencia, perched next to Mediah with their shoulders nearly brushing, tilted her head thoughtfully and answered, "That''s a bit of a mystery as far as I know. Only Yeso really understands the full extent of her abilities, maybe Jaer too."


    Mediah, lost in thought, added, "She''s renowned as the Master of the Howling Night; it has to be something intertwined with the essence of Night, the stars... or something with the moons."


    Xendrix chimed in. "I''ve heard tales that the Howling Night could weave time itself, bending it at will." His eyes sparkled with the thrill of the legend. "It is one of the few Spirits that can breech the very veil between Dream and Nightmare. Is called Veilla, right?"


    "It is," replied the Magi, arching his brow.


    Mediah regarded Xendrix from a new perspective, a shift from the usual playful banter. This insight into the Spirit world wasn''t common among humans, especially for those like Xendrix, who struggled with the simple concept of air. But there was a chance Xendrix had been fed these stories by someone else, maybe another Magi? Mediah realised that perhaps he was making drama where there was none. Still, it was intriguing. How did he know?


    Suddenly, like a war cry, Mediah echoed, "Time! You place importance on Time, right, Xendrix?"


    "Uh, what?" Xendrix blinked, caught off guard.


    "Time," Mediah repeated, his voice steady. "Do you value it?"


    Xendrix hesitated, grappling with the question. "I guess I do, in a way," he finally said.


    "The less time one has, the more precious it becomes," Mediah observed. "Time comes and goes and is everywhere and nowhere. People pay for your Time, or you pay them for their Time. Like if you want me to do something... a... a... work! It will take me Time; I value my Time, and you pay me... in coins! Right?"


    "Well, sure," Xendrix shrugged. "No time means no life, right? Kinda like being dead."


    "That''s it! That''s the essence of the coin!" Mediah declared, his smile widening as he sensed a breakthrough in Xendrix''s grasp of the coin''s deeper meaning.


    Yet Xendrix remained entrenched in his ignorance, his face etched with lines of perplexity. "I''m still in the dark here," he confessed, rubbing his temples in bewilderment.


    Ulencia, inching ever closer to Mediah, cast a concerned glance towards Xendrix. "Has he been acting like this the whole day?" she whispered.


    But Mediah, absorbed in his thoughts, missed her question, his attention fixated on the unusual shadow of contemplation that had settled over Xendrix''s features. What just happened? Was he pretending?


    "Alright, let''s pivot our approach," Mediah suggested, adopting a more contemplative tone. "Imagine you''re bestowed with infinite Time¡ªeternity at your fingertips. No constraints, no end. What would you do? What path would you tread?"


    Nibbling thoughtfully on another biscuit, Xendrix chewed slowly, his eyes distant. After a moment, he replied with uncharacteristic simplicity, "Honestly? I have no clue."


    "And if the scales tipped the other way?" Mediah pressed on. "What if you had but a fleeting moment, less than an hour left? What then?"


    Xendrix''s gaze, intense and probing, flitted between Mediah''s azure eyes and Ulencia''s expectant look. His voice, now subdued and tinged with an unspoken gravity, carried his fake uncertainty. "I don''t know."


    In that instant, Mediah discerned a veiled depth in Xendrix, a reservoir of tacit thoughts and secrets. He couldn''t shake off the feeling that Xendrix was guarding knowledge he was reluctant to divulge. The question lingered in the air¡ªwas it Mediah who was wasting Time, or was it, in fact, Xendrix?


    <blockquote>


    During the Reign of Winter, a revelation that would forever alter the course of medical science came to light. As investigators delved into the human body''s mysteries, they uncovered a shocking truth: Red Blood was contagious. It was a discovery that sent ripples of fear and fascination worldwide. But one medical case, in particular, would etch itself into the annals of history. The story of Esmeralda, an Elf born with green blood, would become a legend. Tragically, Esmeralda fell victim to the insidious contagion, transforming her once-vibrant emerald-hued lifeblood into the crimson flow of humans - the blood of Death. No scholar could understand how she got it since she lived isolated from any Human. But there it was he blood red. Her struggle to survive and the ongoing investigation into this enigmatic phenomenon continue to captivate the medical community today, a testament to the ever-unfolding mysteries of our own biology. How and when did it start? Are we all condemned to die as swiftly as humans? Is the time of Menschen really over? ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0018] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Mamavida


    Mother


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: In the Menschen language, "Mamavida" is the term for "mother," encapsulating the essence of life and nurturing. It denotes the one who gives life. The term carries the weight of both the physical act of mothering and the broader, life-giving force that sustains all beings.


    </blockquote>


    The underbrush crunched under Noctavia''s barefoot steps through the forest. Her keen eyes fixed on the boar grazing obliviously in the silent clearing, only accompanied by the distant call of a bird as the boar nibbled on the fresh grass, unaware of the deadly trajectory of the arrow aimed at its heart.


    There was no room for error; the bow was drawn tight, a curve of impending death, and Noctavia''s fingers itched on the string, ready to release.


    But as she took aim, her arms betrayed her, the bowstring slackening with a sigh. The weapon lowered with a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Fatigue clung to her limbs, sickness roiling in her belly like a stormy sea.


    She craved the mouthwatering taste of meat, a longing driven by the endless mornings of eggs that Ulencia prepared, bland and repetitive. But her body was rebelling, drained of strength.


    "Master?" The concern in the wolf¡¯s voice was clear as the Spirit of the Howling Night materialised beside her.


    "I''m fine, Howl. Just tired," she lied, her voice barely a mumble amidst the verdant whispers of the forest. Grit creased her brow as she nocked another arrow, refocusing on the boar. With a deep breath, she drew the string once more and let the arrow fly. It missed its mark again, and the boar bolted¡ªonly to halt mid-escape, suspended in the air as if snared by invisible threads. Time itself had frozen, a small mercy granted by Noctavia''s will.


    "Well, it''s not cheating if no one knows," she muttered under her breath, a note of frustration in her tone meant only for her and the Howling Night at her side. Her hand found the copper dagger in her belt.


    "You have been... irritated lately," Howling Night observed, his voice a deep rumble as he prowled behind his Master.


    "Wouldn''t you be?" Noctavia complained with a sharp voice that exposed her blade of emotion. "Half a moon has passed, and he hasn''t returned. I can''t sense him, and I don''t even know if he''s safe. If something happened to him or to the others. Or maybe he''s¡ª"


    "I would know," Howl interjected.


    "You would?" she pressed, her heart twisting with worry.


    "And I would kill him for causing you distress and pain," Howl growled protectively. "Would shatter his bones, and he would hear each one of them crack."


    "You would not, silly! Such a big mouth saying such big words. You adore him as much as I do, if not more," Noctavia retorted, her hand steady as she approached the suspended animal, her dagger poised at its neck.


    "He does give excellent belly rubs," Howl conceded with a wistful tone that lightened the moment. "But he is not my Master!"


    A soft chuckle escaped Noctavia''s lips even as she made the clean-cut. "He sure does."


    As time snapped back into its rightful rhythm, the boar collapsed to the ground, its lifeblood staining the grass a vivid crimson. The scent of blood mingled with the earthy dampness of the forest floor, overwhelming Noctavia''s senses. She doubled over, retching beside the boar''s twitching form.


    Noctavia returned from the hunt with a quiet intensity. Silently, she retreated to her tent, sealing herself away from the world outside without uttering a single word.


    After the feat that the settlement had thanks to Noctavia, Mediah hesitated at the entrance of her tent, his hand hovering just shy of the canvas. He had always felt a peculiar unease around her. Noctavia was as powerful as beautiful. Despite his reservations, Mediah knew she hadn''t eaten the very game she hunted, and concern overrode him.


    She had sealed herself away; the tent''s closed flaps were an obvious proclamation of her desire to be left alone. Yet duty and worry propelled him forward.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Swallowing his reluctance, he called softly, "Noctavia, may I enter?"


    "What do you want?" The weariness in her voice was noticeable even through the fabric.


    "I brought food," he offered.


    "Fine, come in." The grudging permission was all he needed.


    Mediah stepped inside, finding Noctavia enshrouded in one of Yeso''s black robes, repurposed as a makeshift blanket. He carefully set a small plate of food on the table beside her bed, his eyes lingering on her for a moment.


    Noctavia turned away, a grimace twisting her features as she caught the scent of the meal.


    "You need to eat," Mediah urged gently.


    "I just need to rest," she murmured, her voice tinged with an indefinable grief.


    "Please, try to eat something," he insisted.


    "It smells awful!" Her protest a clear rejection. "Smells like death and duck''s feathers." Mediah, to prove his point, took a strip of the meat and tasted it. "No, it''s the same as everyone else enjoyed. The food is good. I don''t know what you''re complaining about."


    "I can''t stand the smell," she insisted, "Please take it away!"


    "Are you sick?"


    "No, I''m just sad... and tired," she confessed, her voice a mere whisper, lost among the folds of Yeso''s robe.


    "He will come back. You know that, right?"


    "I can''t feel him. He''s probably doing something he doesn''t want me to know..." Noctavia''s voice trailed off as she retreated further into her cocoon of fabric and shadows.


    "The Commander always has a good reason, and his heart is in the right place... with you. But right now, we need you," Mediah almost pleaded, "I need my elder to guide me."


    "Need me? To guide you? For what? I''m not a Commander," Noctavia''s voice rose. She sat up abruptly, her legs crossed beneath her. ¡°I¡¯m a Noctavia. I can teach you to sew.¡±


    Mediah summoned his courage and sat beside her. The proximity left him even more nervous. "It''s about Xendrix."


    "What do I have to do with a human?" Her tone was dismissive, incredulous.


    "Yeso promised him he would learn alchemy," Mediah explained.


    "I don''t know anything about alchemy! What am I supposed to do?"


    "But you know about magic, about the impossible. After all, you and Yeso performed a hex... against all odds... and..."


    "And he is not here!" Noctavia''s protest cut through the air, sharp and anguished, a raw edge of vulnerability in her voice that she rarely showed.


    "Please..."


    Noctavia towered over Mediah, her form an arch of indignation, her voice a tempest of emotion. "Your human is not my responsibility!"


    Mediah, taken aback by her imposing stance, inadvertently allowed his gaze to drift. It was then he noticed the subtle changes in her appearance; her cleavage, usually modestly concealed, was more pronounced, and her attire strained across her midriff, revealing a hint of her belly button beneath the fabric. It was out of character to the Noctavia he knew, the one who moved with lethal grace and whose attire always whispered of shadows and discretion.


    His observation slipped out tactless amidst the tension. "Did you gain weight?" The words hung in the air, an ill-placed comment that seemed to slow time itself.


    Noctavia''s glare was spires ready to attack, her voice crackling with frost. "Is that really what you should be concerned with right now?"


    Mediah''s heart sank as he registered the gravity of his blunder. "No, I... I apologise. That was out of line," he stammered, the words clumsy in his mouth, his cheeks burning with shame.


    But the damage was done. In a flash of movement, time that was frozen to all, Noctavia''s magic lashed out, a force that seized Mediah and sent him tumbling out of the tent, the dish of food following to splatter across his face.


    The door flap fell shut behind him, leaving him sitting in the dirt, food and mortification smeared across his features.


    Inside, Noctavia collapsed back into the cocoon of blankets and Yeso''s robe, burying her face into the pillows. Her breath came in muffled gasps, a storm of emotions raging within. Mediah''s words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of the changes she could no longer ignore.


    She had indeed gained weight, and deep down, realising what it might signify was beginning to dawn on her. Worse still, it came at a time when she felt most alone.


    Noctavia was late.


    <blockquote>


    As a young boy, I was captivated by a mythical tale, a favourite of my Godmama. Beloved across diverse lands and cultures, this story was moulded uniquely by each civilization. Yet, its essence remained consistent: the saga of a little king and a Mage. The narrative centred on a young monarch eager to demonstrate his worthiness for his regal responsibilities. He enlisted the support of a formidable Mage renowned for her unparalleled power and striking beauty. Their journey for four enchanted relics¡ªa chalice, a branch, a blade, and a coin¡ªbecame trinkets of legend. They battled Leviathon, the Dragon Spirit of Water, for the chalice, confronted a colossal Treant, the Spirit of the Forest, for the blade, and braved the malevolent Wind-Eagle for the coin. As for the fire, I can''t recall. Throughout their odyssey, they encountered myriad challenges, cementing their legacy in the annals of time. The little king, bolstered by the Mage''s steadfast support, fulfilled his quest. This journey was more than a test of his royal mettle; it was a journey of self-discovery. The tale''s conclusion, however, varied with each retelling. Some whispered of a royal romance, with the Mage becoming his queen. Others speculated her return to a mystical realm or suggested she was an ethereal Spirit for the king. Grimer versions hinted at a tragic betrayal, with the king using his newfound arcane knowledge to imprison and silence her, after failing to win her affection. He tortured her until Death finally found her remains. <s>Yet, the grim reality I uncovered later starkly contrasted with the fabled narrative. It was a harrowing account of my mother''s betrayal and murder by someone she trusted. This same betrayal was why</s> alchemy was outlawed across Mir-Grande-Carta, the Great Continent. <s>My parents seek to build bridges between humans and magic. But what they did was to show Death the way to their home.</s> ¡ª "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0019] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Eu


    Ew


    Type: Pronoun


    Meaning: In the Menschen language, "Eu" signifies the self, used to reference the speaker directly. It conveys a sense of personal assertion and identity. When combined with "mir," it becomes a gesture of offering or informing, transforming the statement into one of sharing or declaring a personal action or state.


    </blockquote>


    After the exhaustive lessons, Xendrix sat hunched over a bench table outdoors, his gaze drifting across the expanse to where the Meerio reflected the nine moons. A frown creased his brow. Noctavia observed him from afar. She had already noticed that the young Prince would be moody each time he saw Ulencia slipping discreetly into Mediah''s tent. Noctavia didn''t need to be a seer to grasp the budding closeness between the two halflings and the growing jealousy of the human. Ulencia, with her gentle beauty and kindness, seemed naturally drawn to Mediah''s steady presence. And why not? The man had the stature of a dream, the serene countenance of a sage, and hair that fell in a cascade of hazel locks.


    Mediah reminded her of Yeso when she first met him. And like Yeso, the young halfling always seemed to possess the right words for every moment, a gift that Xendrix didn''t show to possess. Xendrix reminded Noctavia, a court jester in his own tragic play. Shorter, rounder, and lacking the effortless intellect of his peers. He compensated with a silver tongue that could deceive others into seeing a wisdom she feared he didn''t own.


    It was hard for Noctavia to imagine how he could contribute anything to the kingdom of Keblurg or even to her people, among whom he now lived. Was he just another mouth to feed, depleting their already scant resources?


    She couldn''t see anything besides a sad, fat kid.


    "You think too much," Noctavia''s voice sliced through the night as she walked closer, startling Xendrix from his brooding. He turned to see her approaching, wrapped in a black robe, her presence commanding even in such simple attire. He blinked in surprise; he had been under the impression that she didn''t speak human language, as Yeso had once mentioned.


    "Oh, uh, sorry," he stammered, unsure of how to address her unexpected fluency.


    "You are apologizing for thinking?" she quipped, climbing to sit beside him on the bench, the robe enveloping her like a shroud of night. "You are silly. You need to articulate better and choose your words with care. You use your silver tongue to trick others into believing what is not, and when you actually have something to say¡­ there is nought."


    "Oh, I..." Xendrix struggled for a moment, words failing him.


    "Knowing your words and wielding them appropriately is as crucial as choosing the right weapon for battle. You wouldn''t bring a bow to a melee, not unless you can outpace the wind, and even then, success isn''t guaranteed," she said, her words rapid and incisive.


    "I''ll try," he managed to respond, a note of defensiveness creeping into his voice.


    "Trying isn''t enough, not when you''re reaching for the impossible. To achieve the impossible, you must do the impossible," Noctavia declared, her blue gaze piercing.


    "Sounds like¡­ impossible," he joked weakly, attempting to lighten the mood.


    Noctavia ignored the attempt at humour. "What do you know about alchemy? Enlighten me, your highness."


    Xendrix hesitated, then began, "It''s a form¡­ that imbues magic into objects, turning them into¡­ magical items." His voice faltered, and he doubted his own understanding.


    "Let''s pivot for a moment," she said, steering the conversation in a new direction. "What is the most powerful word you''ve ever used?"


    He pondered briefly before answering, "Powerful... would be... ''I want.''"


    "That''s an assertive choice. It''s commanding; it calls forth what you desire, summoning your wishes into reality," she explained with a nod.


    "Well, it''s easy to say when you''ve been born into everything you want," he said, a touch of bitterness in his tone.


    "Nonetheless, ''I want'' is a potent incantation. It''s the root of creation, yet so often overlooked," she mused, offering him a rare smile.


    Emboldened, he met her gaze. The blue of her eyes was mesmerizing, laced with streaks of gold like dawn''s first light. "I want to learn alchemy," he said earnestly.


    "Try better. Seek out the precise words, the incantation that will craft your spell," she challenged him, prompting him to delve deeper, to find the words that would unlock the door to the impossible.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Teach me!" Xendrix''s plea cut through the stillness of the night.


    Noctavia raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the abrupt intensity in his voice. "Teach you?" she echoed.


    "I want you to teach me!" he insisted, his voice resonating with a commanding edge that seemed to borrow strength from the very stars above. "It has to be you!"


    "Teach you what, exactly?" Noctavia pressed, her curiosity piqued. "How to bake a pie? How to cut fabric and stitch it into a skirt? Maybe you want me to teach you Menschen? What do you want? Your words are still weak!"


    "Teach me the impossible!" The words tumbled out of Xendrix as a bold declaration.


    Noctavia stood, her movements graceful as she wrapped the black robe tighter around her shoulders. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable in the moonlight. "Go sleep. At dawn, we leave."


    "We leave? To where?" Xendrix was confused.


    "You said you want to learn the impossible. To do that, we don''t just walk the Trial of Elements," she explained with a mysterious glint in her eye. "We embark on the Trial of the Impossible!"


    "And what is that, exactly?"


    "I don''t know. I''m making it up as I go!" And with those words, Noctavia vanished beneath the flap of her tent, leaving Xendrix alone.


    <blockquote>


    Here it started. The real unknown version of the myth, later known as "The Little King and the Mage." ¡ª "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.


    </blockquote>


    They had walked for hours that morning until Xendrix complained, halting their progress to lean against the trunk of a tree. "I don''t understand why I have to be barefoot!" He brushed away the tiny stones and dry twigs under his feet, "We''d move much faster if I had my boots on!"


    "I didn''t realize you were in such a hurry," Noctavia replied with a hint of amusement, guiding her horse to pivot back toward him.


    "It''s easy for you to say, perched on your mount, while I''m down here barefoot, helpless to every venomous bug or sharp stone! I could die from this!"


    "And yet you live." Noctavia chuckled, the sound light and teasing. Her golden hair caught the sun''s rays. "We certainly don''t want that," she said, stilling jesting. "And yet you walk through the impossible."


    Xendrix glared up at her, tilting his chin defiantly. "I don''t get it... Is there a purpose to this?"


    "What purpose do you think it serves?" she countered, turning her horse once more and setting off at a pace that allowed Xendrix to follow.


    "To endure hardship?" he guessed.


    "You have such a way with words," she quipped with sarcasm, her horse ambling forward as Xendrix trailed, placing each foot with care upon the forest floor.


    "And where exactly are we going?" he asked again, exasperation creeping into his question.


    "To the forest''s heart," Noctavia responded, rolling her eyes as though the answer should have been obvious. "I''ve told you already, three times."


    "Is it much further?" he asked.


    "The more you ask, the further it will be," she replied cryptically, the corner of her mouth turning up in a slight, knowing smirk.


    Xendrix''s feet ached; they were tender and raw from the unforgiving forest floor. They had been on this odd trek for nearly three days, and Noctavia, in her role as his unlikely mentor, had proven to be an enigma. Her first decree had been for him to walk barefoot, a practice he knew the Menschen adopted to harmonize with the elements and to show reverence. But his city-bred feet were not accustomed to such trials, and every step felt like a trial by fire, slowing their progress. Noctavia, however, remained indifferent to his discomfort.


    Then there were her sudden, unexplained departures. She would leap from her horse and vanish into the forest, only to return with a visage marred by puffy eyes and a complexion that had lost its lustre. Xendrix''s inquiries into her well-being were met with silence or deflection. Despite this, he couldn''t dismiss the respect Yeso had for her, having named her a Magi several times in his speech, even though she didn''t don the traditional Black Robe or bear the title amongst her peers.


    "We stop here," Noctavia declared abruptly, interrupting his ruminations.


    Xendrix surveyed their surroundings, finding nothing but a swamp exuding the pungent aroma of sulfur and decay. "Here? Are y¡ª" His words were cut short as time itself seemed to halt, the world around them suspended in a silent tableau.


    "Oh boy, he talks so much," Noctavia''s muttering was lost in the stillness of the world around her, a world held captive in the palm of her hand as time stood obediently at bay. The forest was eerily silent, devoid of life''s usual symphony; no birds sang, no breeze whispered through the leaves, no twigs snapped underfoot¡ªonly the silence that comes with the suspension of time.


    From her horse''s backpack, she retrieved a sword, its blade marred with dents, its surface adorned with gibberish runes and an array of colourful beads. The weapon could have been mistaken for a child''s botched attempt at craft.


    Holding the sword aloft, she waded towards the swamp''s edge, her voice smooth and coaxing, "Ollo, ollo! Vem raus, vem raus! Hear me, hear me, sweetest Treant of the forest," she called out, her tone dripping with allure. "Come now, I know you''re eager to greet me."


    She watched the stagnant water, her plea hanging in the suspended air. "Ollo! Won''t you come? Come on, it''s me, the Noctavia!"


    Impatience crept into her actions; she tapped her foot against the squelching mire, urging the creature forth. "Really? From all days, you choose today to play hard to get?"


    Then, breaking the stillness, the swamp water began to churn, and a crown of colossal black branches thrust through the surface, reaching skyward. A pair of deep and knowing emerald eyes peeked in her direction from amidst the living tangle. "How dare you!"


    <blockquote>


    Spirits in our world are an enigmatic phenomenon. Their origins and composition remain a mystery, yet they are irresistibly drawn to our realm. These beings manifest in a myriad of forms, ranging from the peculiar to the wondrous. Consider, for instance, the dual-headed fish, a topic I am forbidden to detail in my writings - a specific Spirit can''t stand them and never answers me why. It is a mystery that I still want to resolve. Then there''s the Wind Eagle, with feathers crafted from the breeze itself, the Flaming Ram that feasts on flames, and the little temperamental mouse with the ability to traverse various realms. She is very temperamental. The diversity of Spirits is boundless, each with a distinct mission: to seek their destined Master. The rationale behind their selection of a Master is as perplexing as their existence. Why does a Spirit choose to serve a particular individual? The closest I''ve encountered to this question is a simple yet profound, "Why not?" And I tried, dear reader, I gave her all the cheese I could buy, but she still won''t tell me why. ¡ª "Between Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III" by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0020] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Drach


    Noun


    Translation: Dragon


    Pronunciation: /''d?ax/


    Definition: "Drach" signifies dragons, reptilian creature characterized by immense power, with the ability to fly, and mastery over elemental forces. The existence and nature of Drach stir significant debate among the Menschen, oscillating between views of them as mere creature or as Spirits. This dichotomy positions Drach at the intersection of fear and veneration, marking them as subjects of one of the realm''s profound mysteries.


    Cultural/Contextual Background: The societal structure of Drach is notably unique, operating similarly to hives with a central figure known as the Mother of Dragons. The primary objective of the Dragon Queen is to proliferate her species through the production of eggs, ensuring the continuity and dominance of Drach across the land, sea and sky. As of the current era, there exists only one known female dragon, Talathon Drach.


    </blockquote>


    "How dare you!" the Treant''s voice resounded once more. It was a mighty rumble akin to trees swaying in a storm''s grip, its foliage rustling, bark crackling with indignation.


    Before Noctavia stood a giant, a sentient old tree with a humanoid form crafted by nature''s patient hand, limbs stretched out like the branches of rugged oaks, and its roots splayed below, anchoring it firmly to the earth, the swamp''s mud.


    The bark that sheathed its body was thick and knotted. Within its face, two emerald eyes glowed like forest fires, and its countenance, though seemingly fixed by the grooves and lines of its bark, could express a depth of emotion.


    Noctavia, undeterred by the Treant''s booming admonition, stood her ground. "How dare I come to visit an old friend?"


    The Treant''s eyes, those deep wells of living green, flickered with a light that was at once ancient and childlike. "How dare you!" the Spirit repeated.


    Noctavia, unfazed by the imposing figure, retreated from the water''s edge to avoid the swamp''s clammy kiss.


    "How dare I?" she echoed back, her tone laced with genuine confusion as she regarded the Treant with a bemused tilt of her head. "What have I done to warrant such an ugly greeting?"


    "You have forsaken me!" The accusation came from the Treant like a thunderclap, resonating through the leaves and bark.


    "I have done nothing of the sort, and my presence here is the very evidence of that," Noctavia countered.


    "Why not visit me sooner then?" the Treant pressed, its massive form exuding a sense of wounded pride.


    "Since when does a Spirit have the notion of time?" Noctavia posed the question with a soft chuckle. "Would it make any difference if I came yesterday or come tomorrow? Aren''t we still who we are regardless of the when?"


    A hush fell upon the clearing, and in that quiet, Noctavia noticed the corners of the Treant''s bark-like mouth curve into a semblance of a smile. "I missed you," it confessed, the rumbling tones softer now.


    "And I you," she admitted, her earlier defiance melting away. "Indeed, I should have come by earlier. But I am here now and with a rather entertaining quest in mind."


    "A quest?" The Treant''s interest was piqued, the branches that formed its eyebrows lifting.


    "Do you see that fellow over there? Chubby, short kid?" Noctavia gestured toward Xendrix, who stood a little ways off, frozen in time and oblivious to their conversation.


    "The human?" The Treant''s gaze shifted, incredulity spreading across its wooden face as it took in Xendrix''s unlikely presence in the forest''s depths.


    "Yes, a human," Noctavia affirmed.


    "Why would you bring a human here?" the Treant inquired, its deep voice reverberating through the forest air. "I don''t partake of flesh... but if it''s an offering, I could be persuaded to try."


    "I''m teaching him magic," Noctavia clarified, holding up the whimsically adorned sword for the Treant to see.


    "Teach a human magic?" The Treant looked as sceptical as a tree could. "Might as well teach a twig to dance."


    "A twig would be easier to teach, I agree. Yet here we are, a walking, talking entity of the forest," Noctavia retorted with a smile. "With imagination, anything is possible."


    "I still don''t understand how I fit into this picture. I''m a spirit of the woods, not a tutor of magic, especially not for humans," the Treant protested, its boughs creaking as it shrugged. "I''m still waiting for my Master, and that human, for sure, is not my Master! My Master will be the greatest of them all! Wise, brave and with fair humour."


    "You still haven''t found him?"


    "Not yet, but I''ll wait. There is nothing else I can do but wait."


    "I know this kid is nothing to you, and I''m sorry you didn''t find your Master yet, but they will come sooner or later." Noctavia stepped closer. "Alchemy... it''s a kind of magic that humans can learn. I need him to believe this sword is imbued with such power."


    "Is it?" The Treant peered at the sword, its emerald eyes scrutinizing the crude runes and colourful beads. "You defaced this blade with nonsense and baubles?"


    "It''s meant to look enchanted!"


    "It looks like a shiny turd..." The Treant''s blunt assessment was uncompromising.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Will you help me?"


    "Very well," the Treant conceded with a rustle of leaves, "but only because you are dear to me."


    Noctavia dropped the sword and watched with satisfaction as it plunged into the swamp, sinking steadily into the murky depths. The Spirit eyed the blade, then her, its confusion evident in the furrowing of its wooden brow. "I don''t understand," it rumbled.


    "The human will attempt to retrieve it, and you will pretend to stop him," Noctavia explained.


    "But if I pretend to stop him, he will believe it impossible to succeed," the Treant countered, its voice a low growl.


    "Or will he?" Noctavia challenged with a mischievous glint in her eye.


    "No, he will not. If I were to truly try, I would crush him," the Treant said matter-of-factly, its branches creaking as it considered the weight of its own strength.


    "Just pretend. You act as though you''ll stop him, and I''ll pretend I''m unable to assist," Noctavia instructed.


    "How should I act? Do I simply make the earth shake?"


    "Yes, and say something intimidating but not too harsh," she advised.


    "Like commenting on how fat he is?" the Treant prodded.


    "Not quite that cruel," Noctavia chuckled. "Just enough to test him."


    "Very well," the Treant replied, settling into a stance that seemed ready for battle. "Like this?" it asked, branches poised.


    "That looks convincing," Noctavia observed, then took a step back. "Perhaps make yourself a bit smaller."


    The Treant withdrew slightly, lessening its imposing figure. "This?" it queried, still towering but less so.


    "Spread your branches more," she directed, aiming for the perfect balance of threat and bluff. The Treant obliged, its limbs extending outward, casting an even more daunting shadow.


    "We''re set whenever you are," Noctavia declared, confidently nodding to affirm the scene they''d orchestrated.


    "Bring forth the human!" the Treant bellowed, its voice echoing through the swamp, a challenge set for Xendrix¡ªa test of courage, wit, and the willingness to reach for the impossible.


    Noctavia bowed gracefully and positioned herself just behind Xendrix. In an instant, the scene before them erupted into chaos. With a firm shove, Noctavia propelled Xendrix forward, her voice laced with urgency, "Protect me!"


    Xendrix lurched forward, nearly losing his balance as he caught sight of the towering Treant poised for a mock assault. "What am I supposed to do?" Panic edged his voice as he half-turned, contemplating escape, but Noctavia''s grip was unexpectedly firm, anchoring him in place.


    "Go! Retrieve the sword!" she commanded.


    "What sword?"


    "It''s a sword that controls the earth element. With it, you can vanquish the Treant. Now go!" Noctavia''s push was insistent, driving him toward the creature.


    Xendrix''s body tensed, every instinct screaming against confronting the massive being before him. He was unarmed, untrained, and at a clear disadvantage.


    "Face me, you chubby human! ...I mean, just human!" the Treant''s voice boomed.


    "I come in peace!" Xendrix called out, advancing towards the Treant with raised hands. "I mean no harm!" he amended, his eyes scanning for the submerged sword.


    Then, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled bravery or perhaps stupidity, Xendrix dove into the swamp. The water closed over him with a splash, the murky depths concealing his form as he sought the magic-laden blade that Noctavia had promised would grant him the power of the earth element.


    The Treant and Noctavia watched, the former with an air of bemused anticipation, the latter with a spark of hope that this charade would ignite the true potential within the human who dared to dive into the unknown for a chance at the impossible.


    Xendrix''s form broke the surface of the swamp with a gasp for air, his heart pounding against the cage of his ribs. The looming figure of the Treant spurred him back into the depths, the threat of its presence driving him to search frantically for the sword.


    Time and again, he emerged empty-handed, the murky waters offering no favour to the desperate boy.


    On his third ascent, the Treant''s growl echoed like a war drum, sending Xendrix plunging back into the swamp with renewed fervour. But human strength has its limits, and his was quickly waning. The swamp was an abyss, visionless and suffocating, and the Treant¡ªa living force of nature¡ªloomed ever-threatening at its edge.


    Exhaustion clawing at him, Xendrix made the decision to abandon the depths and fled from the water''s embrace. In a moment of instinct or inspiration, he extended his hand toward the Treant and Noctavia and called out, "Come to me!"


    A hush fell over the swamp, the silence stretching taut as the moments passed. When nothing stirred, Xendrix''s voice rose to a commanding crescendo, "I command you! Come to me!"


    And then, as if summoned by the power of his command, the swamp water began to stir. A bubble formed, growing and swirling into a small vortex. With a sudden surge, like a fish leaping from the depths to greet the sun, the sword burst forth from the water, arcing gracefully through the air to land firmly in Xendrix''s outstretched hand.


    Noctavia and the Spirit stood motionless, struck silent by the spectacle.


    "I have now the device to kill you, monster! Let her go!" Xendrix''s voice thundered through the swamp, emboldened by the surge of adrenaline that raced through his veins.


    Noctavia cast a discreet glance at the Treant and murmured under her breath, "Play dead."


    The Treant, caught off guard, responded with a puzzled, "Play what?"


    "Dead!" Noctavia insisted in her whisper.


    Comprehension dawned on the Treant''s barked features, and it performed its part with an exaggerated flair. Clutching the area above its roots where a heart might be, it groaned theatrically, "Oh, you have vanquished me, paunchy, brave human! You have vanquished me!"


    Its massive form then toppled, mimicking the fall of a great tree severed at its base. "Oh, poor me! The mighty Treant Spirit of the forest, now I lay dead! Oh, poor me, I die. And I''m dead now! Argh."


    "I did it!" Xendrix was in awe and disbelief as he stared at the ''defeated'' Treant. "I actually did it! I killed a Treant!"


    Approaching him with a ceremonious stride, Noctavia announced grandly, "Prince Xendrix of Keblurg, you have triumphed in the Trial of Earth!" She then bowed deeply before him, "Congratulations!"


    "You saw it, right?" Xendrix asked, seeking validation for his astonishing feat.


    "Yes, I saw it," she confirmed with a nod, maintaining the facade.


    "I commanded the sword to come to me, and the Treant to die, and... and..." Xendrix''s excitement cascaded into a torrent of words.


    With a flick of her wrist, Noctavia stilled time itself. "For fuck sake, the boy never shuts up," she muttered, turning her attention back to the Treant still lying on the ground. "Are you all right?"


    "Oh, this was delightful! Shall we do it again?" the Treant asked, its voice resonating with laughter in a wooden timbre.


    "I still have three more objects for our ruse," Noctavia replied with a playful tone, "but I need fire, air and water, Spirits."


    The Treant lifted itself up, shaking off leaves and twigs. "What comes next?"


    "The Trial of Water... but I''m loath to deal with that fish¡ªhe''s so..."


    Noctavia trailed off, her face scrunching up in distaste, "Have you met the Dual-Headed Fish?"


    Rolling its emerald eyes in sympathy, the Treant interjected, "If you take the path along the Meerio, there is talk of another Spirit residing in those waters."


    "Another spirit?" Noctavia''s interest was piqued. "One that I know?"


    "A dragon," the Treant disclosed, a sense of intrigue suffusing the air.


    But Dragons are not really Spirits. They are just big. Really big.


    <blockquote>


    The Islands of Cragua house, the infamous dragon lair, has always fascinated me deeply. The question that lingers in my mind, shared by many scholars, is whether dragons are Spirits or simply magnificent creatures of pure power. Some see them as elemental beings, while others argue for their physical existence. I''ve spent years exploring this mystery, and I believe that perhaps dragons straddle both realms, embodying a unique fusion of spirit and flesh. The islands of Cragua''s allure continue to beckon, inviting me to uncover the truth behind these mythical creatures that have captured my heart and mind. Who knows, maybe one day I meet one. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0021] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Noctavia


    Nok-tah-vee-ah


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: "Noctavia" refers to the esteemed tailors who serve the high society within Menschen culture. The title originates from the traditional nickname earned during the Fallfest, where such tailors are known to work through the night, foregoing sleep for three moons to meet the demands of the celebration. The term embodies the dedication and exceptional craftsmanship recognized by the upper echelons of society.


    </blockquote>


    The forest''s edge was bathed in the glow of the encroaching night, its darkness punctuated by the soft dance of firelight from a small campsite. Above, the stars played hide and seek behind the gentle sway of treetops, and the Meerio River whispered as it caressed the banks. The smell of roasting fish mingled with the smoky air, and the fire crackled in a comforting rhythm.


    Noctavia''s face, illuminated in the warm hues of the flames, turned the fish over the fire, the skin crisping to a perfect golden hue. Across from her, Xendrix''s eyes were alive with a childlike glee, an endless stream of words pouring from him as he recounted his day''s conquest over the earth element.


    She listened with half an ear, her thoughts adrift. Noctavia was craving silence, a moment of solace from his incessant chatter. The plan seemed straightforward enough¡ªfeed the boy until sleep claimed him and then bask in the sweet reprieve of quiet. Yet, the young prince was an unwitting tormentor, his energy unyielding.


    The fire popped, a spark flying into the night as Xendrix, blissfully unaware of her inner plea for peace, shifted the conversation to a place she''d been avoiding. "Are you sad because he is gone, the Commander?"


    She kept her gaze steady. Her reply was a cool dismissal, "I''m not sad."


    "You look sad," he insisted, tilting his head, observing her.


    A firm, "I''m not sad," was her answer.


    "But it''s okay to be," he pushed, with the persistence of idiotic youth.


    Her facade cracked, just slightly. "I''m not sad. I''m tired, that''s all."


    He considered her words, his brow furrowing. "Would you like me to be quiet?" he asked, though his tone suggested he knew the futility of such an offer.


    "I''d appreciate it, but I doubt silence suits you," she replied.


    Xendrix just grinned, taking another fish bite, his response muffled by the mouthful. "You say I talk too much, but it''s only because I''m usually alone. Here, people listen. And it''s not because I''m a prince."


    As he spoke, a sudden cough interrupted him, a fishbone caught in his throat. Noctavia''s annoyance shifted to concern. "You need help?"


    He waved her off, finally dislodging the bone with a cough. "I''m fine... but I''ve heard things," he started, then hesitated.


    "Things?"


    "That you have the title Magi, but you''re not one," he confessed.


    "Titles," she scoffed lightly.


    "But is it true?"


    "What do you think makes a magi?" she challenged back.


    "Well, they need to complete a trial¡­ and-and they get a Black Robe. So, are you a Magi?" he pressed.


    A smirk was her answer. "Do I have a robe? No."


    Confusion crept into his voice. "But you know so much."


    "Age has its advantages, Xendrix."


    "And how old is that?"


    She raised an eyebrow. "You''re asking a woman her age?"


    He stumbled over his words, and she chuckled softly. "Titles are just words. I''m a stylist, a tailor, a weaver... Whatever you want to call it."


    Under the cloak of night, with only the campfire to bear witness, Xendrix''s curiosity seemed to kindle like the flames before them. His words tumbled out in a rush. "How did you get here? I mean, a Commander and a Tailor... You''re stunning, perhaps the most stunning woman I''ve ever seen, but I can''t see what you two could have in common," he rambled, pausing only when his breath ran short, his eyes wide, expecting her tale.


    Noctavia turned a fish over the fire, considering her words before she broke the silence. "I wasn''t merely a tailor, Xendrix. I was the tailor to our Dame. I don''t just stitch fabric; I weave significance into each thread. And as for titles," she continued, a wisp of amusement in her voice, "they are but labels if the essence does not match. A prince who neither talks nor behaves as one is hardly a prince in the eyes of the court. There are steps to ascend the social ladder, dances to master¡ªI choreographed those dances."


    His intrigue deepened. "So, how? How did you meet the Commander?"


    She poked at the fire, sending a flurry of sparks into the air. "I crafted his wedding robe. He was to marry the Dame, Veilla."


    "And he didn''t marry her?" Xendrix leaned in.


    "No, he did not."


    His eyes sparkled with the reflection of the fire, searching her face for clues. "So he saw you, and that''s the story?"


    Noctavia let out a soft laugh, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire. "He discovered my true... talent, my actual magic," she said.


    The fire continued its quiet crackle, casting a soft, flickering light on their faces as Xendrix waited eagerly for more of her story. "How so?" he prodded, his eyes bright with curiosity.


    Noctavia sighed, a wistful look crossing her features. "What else is there to say?"


    "I don''t know, it''s your story," he encouraged, his youthful eagerness palpable.


    She relented, her voice taking on a reflective tone. "I finished his robe... but then, he began to find faults. One day, two stitches would come undone; the next, three, the other four. As the wedding day neared, I found myself fixing more and more stitches. The robe was a work of art, a true masterpiece. I outdone myself! But he kept finding faults, reasons to keep me working, to keep me close, to make me stay longer."


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    She paused, lost for a moment in the memories. "We talked for hours as I worked, sharing dreams and thoughts, the kind of things people falling in love talk about and share. For people, it was only a couple of days, but for us¡­ it was a lifetime. And then, the night before the wedding was supposed to happen..."


    Xendrix leaned forward, hanging on her every word. "What happened?"


    "He destroyed the robe," she said softly, her eyes reflecting the fire''s glow. "Burned it beyond repair. There was no wedding, no robe, no need for pretence anymore." Her voice trailed off, leaving the story hanging in the air, as tangible as the smoke that rose from the fire.


    ¡°He called off the wedding after a grand row with Veilla. Overnight, I became the scapegoat, the woman who led the future Rame astray, the one who tipped the scales of the world into disarray. Yet, all I did was create a beautiful robe... for the most captivating man I had ever laid eyes on.¡±


    Xendrix, with the guileless manner of one unused to the intricacies of court life, chimed in. ¡°But people like you here, right? I mean, sure, there¡¯s talk. Mediah made a passing comment about Black Robes, and... well, some people dub you a Magi. They don¡¯t get why you have a Spirit if you can¡¯t wield Magic,¡± he said, then hastened to add, ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have brought it up, sorry. I¡¯m still learning to navigate this social nonsense.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Noctavia reassured him with a slight, enigmatic smile. ¡°They can''t comprehend what¡¯s beyond their sight.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Magic,¡± she mused, staring into the fire as if it held answers, ¡°is not about donning a robe. It¡¯s not the earth beneath our feet, the flames that warm us, nor the water that quenches our thirst... Magic is like a coin.¡±


    His laugh was light, a release from the heaviness of their conversation. ¡°A coin? I¡¯d probably be cursed by that coin.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°You¡¯ve gone further than most. You¡¯ve mastered an element, something tangible and real. For a human, that¡¯s an achievement far surpassing any robe! Now sleep, we still have a long journey ahead to the next Spirit."


    Xendrix, fighting the tug of exhaustion, protested weakly, "I''m not tired."


    But she saw through his stubborn veneer to the fatigue etched in the lines of his young face. "Yes, you are! Sleep," she commanded softly, her voice a lullaby blending with the night''s chorus, coaxing him to surrender to rest.


    Reluctantly, the prince settled down, the resistance leaving his body as he found comfort in the soft sounds of the forest. As his breathing deepened, Noctavia finally found the silence she longed for, a serene smile gracing her lips as she watched over him while she murmured like in a prayer.


    ¡°I hex with whispers soft as night''s own hush. Feel my highs, my lows, the push and shove. In every quiet, fleeting rush, I hex you. I hex, I''ll taste the same, the skin, the tear. I hex your ups, your pull, your touch and your tongue while speaking, screaming or hiding. I will be there. I hex you with my laughter and tears, with every beat of life''s in my blood. If you stray, we''ll share the fears. I hex until back into my arms you come near. I hex your children, and the children of your children with this love will cling to their children of their children. I hex you to death and never leave you alone, and should you fall forever asleep, I hex, and I hex myself to sleep by your side and trick death until the end of time.¡±


    The trek had stretched on, the sun tracing its relentless arc overhead as Xendrix laboured up the serpentine path. It was a gruelling ascent, each turn in the trail promising rest, only to offer more rugged heights. His feet, bare and tender at the outset, began to forge a grudging pact with the jagged stones.


    Beside him, Noctavia moved with graceful ease, her footsteps whispering against the ground in a delicate ballet, a stark contrast to the harshness surrounding them. The further they went, the more Xendrix found solace in the stillness of his own voice, learning that being quiet is a gentle ally, sparing him the weight of needless words and effort. He found that it not only preserved his breath and fortified his stamina but also seemed to cradle his soul, allowing him a peace he hadn''t known was needed.


    As they reached the precipice, overlooking the vast expanse of the Meerio, the wind stood fierce, buffeting against them with such force that it stole his words. "I thought we would meet the water Spirit!" he had to shout over the roar.


    Noctavia turned to him, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "Xendrix," she said, "You talk too much." With a fluid gesture of her wrist, an uncanny calm descended. The wind ceased its howling, and the world around them stood still, time itself bending to her will.


    Facing the edge of the precipice, Noctavia summoned, "I am the Noctavia, the Master of the Howling Night, ally to the Earth Spirit; the Walking Tree has foretold of your alliance." Her words were spoken into the stillness. "Please show yourself!"


    The world held its breath, the very air charged with heavy magic until the Meerio River''s silence shattered with the might of its response. The waters, once placid, vaulted skyward in a majestic plume, cleaving the sunlight into a myriad of dancing, glimmering rainbows. From this aqueous spectacle, a dragon unfurled, its presence an embodiment of raw power.


    Scales shimmered in the deepest ocean blue hues, mirroring the sun''s brilliance in a display of the sea''s grandeur. With a serpentine grace, it presented itself, its snout piercing through the veil of water to confront Noctavia with eyes that bore the wisdom of millennia. Or at least it was what it seemed.


    "Who are you?" The dragon''s inquiry resonated through the clearing, a voice rich and profound, each syllable echoing the depths of time itself.


    A shadow of annoyance flitted across Noctavia''s features, contrasting with the creature''s splendour. "I just told you..." she retorted.


    "I didn''t listen."


    "You are a dragon, and you didn''t listen?"


    "I didn''t," the dragon replied.


    Noctavia stepped forward, undaunted, closing the gap between herself and the creature. With a steady voice free from fear, she reaffirmed her identity, "I am the Noctavia." Her words were firm, standing strong against the grandeur of the dragon''s formidable presence that loomed before her.


    ¡°You are the Noctavia?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°But that is not your real name.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just a title. I promised my Hexe I wouldn¡¯t reveal my name, no matter what,¡± she explained, keeping her stance.


    The dragon''s gaze drifted, descending upon Xendrix with a curiously tilted head. "And who is the fatty?" it inquired, a thread of amusement woven through the deep timbre of its voice.


    "That young boy is Xendrix, a young human. He is walking the trial of alchemy. And don''t call him fatty. It is rude."


    "What is alchemy?" The dragon''s question was simple, disarmingly so, for a being that Noctavia assumed must know the secrets of the cosmos.


    Caught off guard, she paused before responding with a question of her own. "What is your name?"


    "Leviathon."


    "Tell me, Leviathon, is this a first for you?" Noctavia''s voice held a note of sly curiosity.


    "First time of what?" The dragon''s innocence, or feigned innocence, was almost charming.


    "Of being summoned? To converse with those who are not Spirits like you?"


    Leviathon appeared to ponder, its massive form repositioning with a fluid grace that belied its size. "It is more challenging than one might assume," it confessed. "My brothers make it sound easy."


    "Well, Xendrix cannot perceive you... only I can as long as I keep time to a halt. Perhaps you might adopt a form less... formidable?" she suggested.


    "Is that not against the rules?" Leviathon''s question carried the weight of the worries almost of a child.


    "In truth," Noctavia''s lips curled into a half-smile, "you are a Spirit. Do you not, in part, dictate the rules?"


    "You won''t tell?"


    "I won''t tell."


    "Anyone!"


    "Not a soul," she affirmed, her promise as solid as the earth beneath their feet.


    The dragon, once immense and imposing, began to fold in upon itself, its form spiralling into a vortex that pulled the mist into its dance. The air grew thick with the haze, obscuring the world in a veil of mystery. Noctavia waited, her heart a steady drumbeat facing as the mist began to dissipate like the last shadows of night before the dawn.


    A child emerged. ¡°I¡¯m not a Spirit. Why is everyone saying that? You can see that I¡¯m a dragon!¡±


    <blockquote>


    Menschen society, a fresh breed of nobility has emerged, distinct from traditional power hierarchies and defined by the world of fashion. Within this captivating world, tailors and stylists have ascended as contemporary aristocrats, moulding the very essence of individuals and their impact through the art of clothing. Their expertise lies in enabling people not only to wear their titles and responsibilities but also to elevate them, transforming fashion into a potent instrument for self-expression and influence within the court and beyond. I still cherish my mother''s sketchbooks, <s>and the tales that preceded her were undeniably accurate; she was a true Commander in her craft.</s>¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0022] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Nehsem


    Noun


    Translation: Life Force


    Definition: The act of exchanging one''s life force for magical power. This term is particularly linked to necromancy, and later to alchemy, it denotes the perilous practice of humans using a portion of their lifespan to wield magical abilities. It is seen as a dangerous and feared form of magic, indicative of human desperation and ambition, where the balance of life and death is manipulated for accessing supernatural powers.


    </blockquote>


    He was slight, no more than a wisp of a boy, clad in a robe of the finest silken blue that whispered of the dragon''s deep azure scales. His eyes were like pools of molten gold, betraying his true nature, while his hair was pale blue, dishevelled and short.


    "My brothers call me Levi."


    "I''m the Noctavia."


    "I didn''t hear you the first time, but I heard you the second. No need for a third¡ªI can hear well enough," he chided gently, a glimmer of mischief in those golden depths.


    "You are¡­ very young..."


    Levi shrugged. "That''s why I prefer the waters. The merfolk don''t ask so many questions."


    "I apologize if I''ve caused any offence," Noctavia said hurriedly.


    "You haven''t," he answered, "You''re just saying what others believe. Leviathan is clueless, just a kid. He''s... not quite dragon enough."


    "You see that human? Xendrix is just like you."


    "I may be a kid, but I''m no human to be compared with! How rude!" Levi retorted, his dragon pride wounded by the analogy. "What is it that you want me for?"


    Noctavia, with a light chuckle, sat down, legs crossed. "What I mean is, Xendrix is still learning his path, unsure of his actions. And I''m here to guide him alongside you if you''re willing. Please? Pretty please?"


    "I don''t understand this alchemy you speak of," the young dragon stated, mirroring her posture. In that brief, motionless moment, Levi seemed beyond his years.


    Noctavia took out an iron cup from her backpack, etched with indecipherable gibberish runes and adorned with pretty patterns and colourful beans. "He needs to infuse this cup with water."


    "Just tell him to fill it at the river," Levi suggested.


    "Yes, but humans don''t perceive magic as something simple. They need to believe it''s achieved through effort, through struggle... they need to feel as though they''ve moved mountains."


    "How do you propose I assist, then?"


    "Could you pretend to be guarding the cup, allowing him to triumphantly claim it? It worked with the earth element."


    "That strategy aligns with earth, for earth nurtures and protects. But water... it''s inherently peaceful," Levi pondered, "Is like a mummy..."


    "I''m open to your ideas."


    Levi glanced sceptically at Xendrix. "Why do you aid this human? I don''t readily trust them. He smells funny... like cabbage."


    "If he masters magic, he can enlighten others. Humans won''t feel overshadowed or threatened by Menschen, fae, or others."


    "And here I thought I was the kid here," Levi mused.


    Noctavia drew a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the still landscape. "Without your help, I''m left with no choice but to seek guidance from the two-headed fish, and that''s..."


    She was abruptly cut off by Levi''s vehement response. "Absolutely not! I once tried speaking with that creature, and trust me, it was a mistake I deeply regret." Levi glanced at Xendrix, who stood motionless, like a barren tree devoid of life.


    ¡°Do you trust him?¡± questioned the dragon.


    ¡°I try.¡±


    "So, he must believe he has bested me?" Levi asked.


    "Exactly."


    "But I must refrain from violence; it would distort the true nature of the water element. And honestly, I don''t see how this will aid your alchemical pursuits." Levi took the cup from her hands, examining it thoughtfully. "Alright, I have an idea. Let''s see if this Xendrix has a heart as big as his belly!"


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Levi, with a flair for the dramatic, sauntered away from Noctavia and perilously positioned himself beside the cliff''s edge.


    As Levi withdrew from Noctavia''s side, a transformation overtook him, a spectacle of nature''s grandeur unfolding in a matter of moments. His body elongated, and bones and muscles were shifting and growing with a fluid grace that belied the profound metamorphosis occurring. Scales, iridescent and usually shimmering like a tapestry of gemstones under the sun, now appeared dulled and lacklustre. The vibrant blues and greens that he has shown were replaced across his hide like light through stained glass were subdued, giving him an appearance of vulnerability and weariness.


    His wings lay listlessly at his sides. The webbing between each powerful bone looked fragile, almost as if the life within them had been drained away. His yellow eyes were now half-closed, glazed with an artful imitation of suffering.


    In a stroke of theatrical genius, Levi extended his tongue, letting it hang limply from the side of his gaping maw. It was a pitiable sight, like a dog overcome by the relentless assault of heat and thirst.


    This performance by Levi was nothing short of a masterclass in deception. It painted a picture of a once-mighty dragon succumbing to dryness; it was noticeable on his scales, his listless posture, and his panting tongue.


    Noctavia chuckled, playing her part in the ruse. She opened her bag, took the water bottle and emptied it onto the ground, ensuring no drop remained. She then discreetly stowed the bottle back in her backpack and stood beside Xendrix. With a subtle gesture, she signalled the resumption of time, and the wind roared back to life.


    "I don''t see anything!" Xendrix yelled, picking up where their previous conversation had left off. His words trailed off as he caught sight of the colossal, serpent-like creature sprawled on the ground. "Is that... is that a dragon?" he asked, turning to Noctavia with wide eyes.


    "Poor creature, it appears to be on the brink of death!"


    Treading cautiously, Xendrix approached the dragon. He tentatively placed a hand on its scale, feeling the faint rise and fall of its breath. "It''s still alive."


    "What should we do?" Noctavia asked.


    Xendrix paced around the dragon, deep in thought, but didn¡¯t speak a word of what he was thinking. Finally, he turned to Noctavia. "Pass me our water bottle!" he demanded.


    Noctavia obediently searched in the bottle and passed it to Xendrix.


    "It''s empty!"


    Noctavia didn''t reply; she just shrugged her shoulders and watched Xendrix''s every move.


    Confronted with the empty water bottle, Xendrix''s frustration simmered. The urgency of the situation was not lost on him, and Noctavia''s silent, observant stance only added to the pressure mounting within him. His eyes darted between the barren bottle and the cup lying beside the dragon. It was a pivotal moment, one that Noctavia had anticipated.


    She could feel Xendrix''s mind racing, his gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape. Returning to the river to fetch water was impractical; it would take precious hours, a time that logically the dragon did not have. He needed to summon water, much like he had conjured earth before. Still, the glaring absence of water in their immediate vicinity posed a significant challenge. Unlike with the Treant, where the earth was abundant, here he was surrounded by nothing but dry land and air.


    "Water is everywhere." Xendrix pondered aloud.


    The human body itself was made predominantly of water. Could he, then, draw water from within himself to fill the cup? The idea was radical and untested, but Noctavia could see a sparked flicker of hope in him. However, this could touch the line of magical perversion. It worried her.


    How could Xendrix harness his own body''s water? This was uncharted territory, a foray into a form of magic that was both intimate and daunting. Noctavia could understand the concept in the Prince¡¯s words, but the practical application was a mystery.


    The only solution she thought possible was that if he could command the elements outside himself, why not harness the elements within? What could she do? Stop him?


    Standing over the empty cup, Xendrix clenched his fist tightly. He silently willed the water within him to obey his command, to leave his body and fill the cup, asserting his dominion over his own being as he sought to prove himself master of all.


    The magic that unfolded was subtle, lacking the grandiose displays often associated with sorcery. There were no incantations, no dramatic gestures ¨C just a boy, his clenched fist, and an empty cup. Slowly, droplets of water began to seep from his hand, gradually forming a slender stream that cascaded into the cup. Drop by drop, the cup was being filled.


    Noctavia watched in awe and deep horror. The magic Xendrix had just performed was unlike anything she had witnessed¡ªit was raw and unsettling in its implications. She was stunned into silence, her mind grappling with the ramifications of such a power that she didn¡¯t dare say the name.


    With the cup now filled, Xendrix approached the dragon and gently poured the water onto its tongue. The dragon stirred, a sign that the magic had taken effect. But then, unexpectedly, Leviathan took to the skies, diving into the depths of the Meerio and vanishing into the embrace of the Red Sea. Noctavia was left with unanswered questions, the most pressing of which was why Leviathan, known for his kindness, had fled so abruptly. What did the dragon drink?


    The mystery deepened as Noctavia found herself pondering the dragon''s last enigmatic utterance: "He smells like cabbage." This peculiar statement lingered in her mind, an odd and seemingly inconsequential detail that somehow felt significant.


    "Did you see?" Xendrix exclaimed, his voice filled with triumphant energy, startling Noctavia from her reverie.


    "Yes, I saw it," she replied, mustering a smile that didn''t quite reach her eyes.


    "Aren''t you going to say it?" Xendrix asked, his face alight with the glow of achievement. The innocence and simplicity of his joy reminded her that, beneath what had just happened, he was still just a young boy.


    "Say what?" Noctavia queried, though she already knew the answer.


    "You know, like you did after the earth element trial!"


    Realizing the importance of this moment for Xendrix, Noctavia set aside her concerns and assumed the role of the mentor once more. "Prince Xendrix, you have successfully completed the Trial of Water. Congratulations." She bowed respectfully.


    Yet, even as she spoke these words of commendation, the peculiar smell of cabbage lingered in the air, stronger than ever.


    It was an odd, almost comical detail.


    <blockquote>


    Comparatively, it''s intriguing how humans age so rapidly, while Menschen remain ageless forever after twenty-three winters, potentially living for eternity as long they are not stabbed in any vital point. One noticeable aspect that has piqued curiosity is how, as humans age, they acquire a distinct scent, often described as reminiscent of mould and cabbage. This olfactory transformation becomes a tangible reminder of the passage of time, serving as a curious contrast to the timeless existence of the Menschen. But why cabbage?¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0023] - The Little King and the Mage

    <blockquote>


    Tod es blut tu!


    Phrase


    Translation: Death is your blood!


    Definition: A grave proclamation or curse, implying that death is inherent in the very blood of the person addressed. It echoes the fatalistic view of human life, where the red blood signifies a predetermined path to death, marking humans as inherently doomed or cursed due to their mortality. How weak they are compared to other blood types.


    </blockquote>


    The tension between Noctavia and Xendrix had been building, almost imperceptibly, over the course of their week-long journey. Xendrix had grown increasingly frustrated with their apparent lack of direction and Noctavia''s deteriorating condition. Her frequent episodes of illness, coupled with her reluctance to share any information, only served to amplify his impatience.


    As they settled down for the night, with the campfire crackling and casting flickering shadows around them, Xendrix''s frustration reached a boiling point. Upon Noctavia''s return from the bushes, looking pale and wiping her mouth, he couldn''t hold back his irritation. "Maybe you need to eat to stop feeling sick!" he blurted out, his tone more accusatory than concerned. "You barely touched your food."


    Noctavia, weary and on edge with the disgusting smell of cabbage stuck in her nostrils, snapped back defensively. "Maybe you need to meddle in your own affairs!" She slumped against a tree, the bark rough against her back, her face a mask of exhaustion and annoyance.


    Xendrix, driven by his own need to progress in his elemental training, pressed on, oblivious to the strain in her voice. "If you''re sick, you can''t teach me fire and air! I need you!"


    "And I''m here!"


    "You look like you''re dying!"


    At that moment, something inside Noctavia snapped. The cumulative weight of physical ailment, the burden of responsibility as a mentor, and the frustration of dealing with a headstrong young prince converged into a moment of raw vulnerability.


    Her usual composed demeanour cracked.


    In a quick, almost reflexive motion, Noctavia unsheathed her copper dagger from her belt. With an agility that belied her recent illness, she leapt towards Xendrix. Her movements were swift and precise, like a blitz unleashed. Her wings unfurled behind her, a breathtaking expanse that shimmered like a celestial tapestry of stars and galaxies.


    In one fluid motion, she seized Xendrix''s hand, holding it firmly in her grasp. The sharp edge of the dagger glinted ominously in the firelight before she plunged it into the soft flesh of his palm.


    Xendrix, caught off guard, could only watch in shock as a bead of blood welled up from the wound. With a deliberate gesture, Noctavia turned his hand towards his face, forcing him to confront the reality of his own vulnerability.


    "I''m not dying. You are!" she declared with anger. "Tod es blut tu! In my veins flows the very essence of magic, a power that you and your descendants will never possess. My presence here is not for your personal gain but because my Hexe, my Yeso, took pity on your kind!"


    Releasing his hand, she stood up and moved away with some parting words spoken over her shoulder, "And you should be more polite to a woman who is expecting. I believe that is common human courtesy!"


    The revelation that Noctavia was pregnant left Xendrix stunned and likely reevaluating his earlier perceptions and comments.


    The young prince, usually so brash and self-assured, was visibly shaken, his usual facade of confidence crumbling.


    "I''m sorry, I didn''t..." Xendrix began, his voice trailing off.


    "I''m sick because you smell like rotten cabbage... do I complain? No, I''m still here to teach you," she said, leaning back against the tree.


    Xendrix could only muster a quiet apology. "I''m really sorry..." he mumbled.


    Noctavia''s awakening was graced with the morning sun filtering through the foliage, teasing her eyes open. The air was rich with the warm, invigorating scents of eucalyptus, assorted herbs, and a m¨¦lange of floral fragrances.


    As she stirred, Noctavia noticed she was enveloped in a blanket of flowers and branches, a natural cocoon that seemed to have been carefully arranged around her as she slept. The remnants of last night''s campfire were still smouldering, emitting a comforting pine scent.


    Xendrix was nowhere in sight, his absence notable yet not alarming, given that his belongings remained undisturbed in the spot he had occupied the night before. Near her backpack, Noctavia discovered fresh fruit gathered in a leaf, a simple yet thoughtful offering that seemed out of character for the young prince, especially in light of their heated exchange the previous night.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Maybe he wasn''t that bad as a foul cabbage scent.


    As Noctavia savoured the fruit, meticulously peeling the clementines and enjoying the simple pleasure of removing the white strands, she was momentarily startled by a hand appearing in front of her. She turned to find Xendrix, his hair drenched and his appearance slightly dishevelled. "Do I still smell like shit?" he asked a hint of self-consciousness in his voice.


    Testing the air around him, Noctavia inhaled deeply. "Sweetwater and pine," she responded, finding his scent now pleasantly natural.


    Xendrix, shaking his head and causing droplets of water to scatter around, sat beside her. "You have a really good olfact. I can''t smell a thing unless it''s right up against my nose," he remarked, a faint smile touching his lips.


    Noctavia offered him a clementine, but he declined. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday... I was an ass. I know Yeso and others took pity on me. But the truth is, you and your kind will eventually leave, and we humans... The truth is you guys... You will be gone soon, and we humans like to play war. We only understand power. Power speaks to power, and that is power. Can''t remember who taught me that. But I don''t need to be super strong; I need to show off and to know the right people. I want people to have a roof and food. I want to wake up in the morning and not expect that someone will give me a list of names of people I don''t even know who died. Because if I do get that list, I want to be able to care. Because... at this time, I don''t! I don''t care. I don¡¯t know what is wrong with me."


    "Xendrix..."


    He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Please, let me finish. Your kind has always been kind to me. You''ve never made me feel less for being human. And your words yesterday... they made me realise how we might seem like a disease to you. That scares me. It scares me to be like a pig about to go to slaughter and not even realise it."


    Noctavia listened, absorbing the raw honesty in his words. Her hand rested gently on his knee as she spoke. "It scares us too," she began. "We live long enough to witness generations come and go, but the fleeting nature of human existence is something else entirely. It''s terrifying."


    Her hand moved to pat his knee gently. "Yeso doesn''t just pity humans; his compassion extends to all beings. He believes in giving everyone equal opportunities. To him, humans represent some of the most tragic stories imaginable."


    She paused, measuring her own words. "I sometimes struggle to see the world through his eyes. Don''t misunderstand me; I agree with his teachings, but the extent of his efforts and energy towards humans baffles me. Sometimes, it seems like humans are like children quarrelling over the largest slice of cake instead of sharing it evenly. And when I asked Yeso about it, do you know what he said?"


    "What?"


    ¡°He said, ¡®They are scared... time flies so fast. Who wouldn''t be scared?¡¯¡±


    Xendrix gave a nervous chuckle in response. "Yeah, who wouldn''t be?"


    Noctavia continued, "But then, humans do things no other creatures can. You reproduce rapidly, one, two, three, even ten children from the same mother; you''re creative, and you build solutions, bridges, roads, irrigation systems and medicines. We didn''t have medicines or concoctions before humans came along. Your kind is a miraculous, fleeting spark. And we... we are trying to understand and... preserve what we can."


    "Oh, that... that is a lot."


    "It is..."


    "So what now?" he asked.


    "I need to teach you fire and air, and I have no idea how."


    "How would you teach me if I wasn''t human?" Xendrix''s question was more curious than a challenge.


    "I would tell you to make a fire."


    Xendrix arched an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "That is easy."


    "Oh, it is?" Noctavia countered with scepticism and a pinch of amusement.


    "Making a fire with tools is easy. Usually, we would use pebbles and twigs..." Xendrix explained, his gaze shifting to the ground as if he could picture the process in his mind''s eye.


    "So?" Noctavia prompted a gentle nudge to bring his thoughts back to the present.


    "So... how would you teach me air?" Xendrix looked up, his question hanging between them like a challenge.


    Noctavia paused, considering. The concept of teaching air, an element as elusive as it was vital, seemed daunting. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.


    "Teaching air... it''s about understanding the unseen, feeling the flow, the currents. It''s not something you grasp with your hands but with your senses, your intuition. It has the weight of value like a..."


    "Like a coin!" Xendrix interrupted, his voice tinged with a sudden realization. "That is my biggest issue. I don''t understand the coin!"


    "Hold your breath." Noctavia''s instruction was simple.


    Xendrix inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. Without warning, Noctavia moved swiftly, holding his nose and placing a hand over his mouth. Xendrix''s eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing. He held still initially, but it wasn''t long before his face turned a shade of deep red.


    He tried to shove Noctavia away, but she held him firm, her grip unyielding. His struggles grew more frantic as his face darkened further. Finally, just when it seemed he could bear no more, she released him.


    Gasping, Xendrix inhaled deeply, the air rushing into his lungs like a lifesaving elixir. He was still panting heavily when Noctavia posed her question.


    "How much?"


    "It changes... it is motion. I would have given everything to breathe, but once I have it back, it''s like... worthless." Xendrix''s voice was a mutter, more to himself, as he grappled with the lesson. "A coin. It all depends on the intention. Just like air... it can destroy as a storm or... be gentle like a breeze."


    "How much?" Noctavia repeated, her gaze piercing.


    "A breath," Xendrix replied. His understanding was dawning clearer now.


    "Make a fire," she ordered.


    The shift in her command was abrupt, but Xendrix was ready. He understood now. With a daring smile, he asked Noctavia, ¡°What is your real name?¡±


    She chose to ignore him and repeated, ¡°Make a fire!¡±


    <blockquote>


    While Winter invaded the Great Continent, an unprecedented migration of Merefolks from the Red Sea has surged, seeking refuge from the unforgiving cold. However, the conditions they encounter in their new homeland prove to be no less challenging than those they left behind. As the icy grip of winter tightens its hold, whispers of rumours begin to circulate among the desperate and hungry populace, yearning for a change. They pine for the return of summer, fervently wishing for its warmth and abundance to rise once more and ease the burden of their frigid existence. But so far the Winterqueen as been bare. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. III by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0024] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    Vacahure


    Vah?kuh?hyur


    Type: Noun


    Meaning: Derogatory term specifically used to refer to a woman, embodying negative stereotypes and prejudices, such as whore, bitch, slut,


    </blockquote>


    Forty-four days of solitude in a cramped room had taken its toll on Yeso. His body languished in weakness, each muscle aching with the effort of the slightest movement. The irony of being trapped in such a minuscule space, guarded by a door so disproportionately large, was not lost on him. Hunger gnawed at him relentlessly; he hadn''t eaten in as many days as he''d been confined. Tapwater was his only companion, apart from her.


    "It won''t work," she said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the room.


    Startled, Yeso summoned his strength, pushing his torso up to sit on the bed. His eyes found Eura, who was seated on the floor, engrossed in her book. Her hair had grown as long as the end of her back, in contrast to himself, who just grew a few centimetres.


    She was always reading, except when she etched cryptic messages on the walls. All her books were from the same author, Professor Edgar Duvencrune.


    Yeso knew she was a figment of his imagination, a phantom born from isolation and despair. Yet, to him, she was as tangible and important as any flesh-and-blood person. She had become his confidante, his imaginary saviour in this unending nightmare. What other reason could she be here if not the fruit of his imagination?


    "What''s not going to work?" he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.


    "The vault was built to contain the power of the Sun. I''ve tried to break it before. It doesn''t work," she replied without looking up from her book.


    "Maybe you''re not strong enough," he challenged weakly.


    She calmly turned a page. "You''re funny," she remarked with an ironic smile.


    "Am I?"


    "I am as strong, if not stronger than you," she stated matter-of-factly.


    "And why would that be?"


    Closing her book with a soft thud, Eura finally turned to face him. "Because I''m the sun that burns over land, sea, and sky," she declared.


    Yeso''s chuckle broke the heavy atmosphere in the room. "The Sun can only have one Master, and that is me. You''ll have to find another Spirit."


    "Is that so?" Eura''s response was casual as she redirected her attention to her book.


    Driven more by a need to entertain his starving mind than by curiosity, Yeso leaned forward. "May I ask you a question? Who are your parents?"


    "The Winterqueen and the Elven King!" she answered without hesitation.


    "Finnegan?"


    "Finnegan Berdorf, yes!" Eura confirmed.


    A burst of laughter escaped Yeso. "That''s how I know I''m hallucinating. Finnegan is..."


    She cut him off, her tone nonchalant as she turned another page. "No need to be rude. I''m not stupid. I''m adopted."


    "You''re adopted?"


    "Probably. My mother is as frigid as winter, and my father isn''t prone to female companionship. Also, I''ve never seen those two together. So, I must be adopted."


    "I really do have a great imagination," he muttered to himself, but Eura overheard.


    She slammed the book shut and stood up, her presence suddenly commanding and larger than life. "I am the Sun that burns land, sea, and sky. While you are rotting in self-pity, I am gathering my army as we speak! As the Elven Princess, I have the support of the elves. I am betrothed to the most powerful dragon known to Menschen. People are already displaying my crest in their homes and shouting my name. I am the rightful heir and true ruler over Ormgrund, Mir-Grande-Carta, the Red Sea and even Cragua! And I will not allow you to question my sovereignty over anecdotal genealogies. I will build my own legacy with my own blood and seed!"


    As Yeso''s gaze returned to her, he noticed the transformation. Gone were the ragged clothes, replaced by a black robe of intricate embroidery, gold and silver. A blindfold covered her eyes but did not hide a new golden infinity symbol carved on her forehead that was not there before.


    "Why are you blindfolding yourself?" Yeso asked, the realization striking him with the force of a thunderbolt. "You are a Hexe... like me."


    Compelled by an unknown force, he turned towards the mirror in his room. But instead of his own reflection, it was her face he saw staring back at him. Her hair shimmered like strands of diamond, her eyes a spectrum of indescribable shades. At that moment, Yeso was Eura.


    "This vault, my prison, my jail¡ªor, as it''s more commonly known, my bedroom¡ªwas built way before I was born. It wasn¡¯t built for me," she spoke, her voice sharper and louder with each word.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Removing the blindfold, Yeso found himself alone once more, the illusion dissipating like mist under the morning sun. The stark reality hit him: Veilla had built this chamber for him. A profound sense of betrayal washed over him, leaving him reeling.


    He stared into the mirror, taking in the sight of his own reflection. His eyes were sunken, his lips dry and cracked. Golden veins blazed across his skin, their light dimming as he grappled with the crushing weight of his thoughts. If not for Noctavia, his life would be as tormented as Eura¡¯s¡ªif she were real. Or, perhaps, if she were ever to become real.


    From the other side of the moon-shaped door, Jaer''s footsteps echoed in the palace corridor, their pace mirroring the turmoil within him. The guards stationed at the massive moon-shaped door of the vault stood immovable.


    He was eager to leave, to return to a semblance of normalcy. His ''home'' might just be a camp of tents, but it was his place where friends awaited him.


    As he paced, Jaer''s mind wrestled with a daunting task. He needed to break the news to Yeso: Redfred and Muru had chosen to stay in the Capitol. The reasons behind their decision were steeped in the most horrific prejudice, so astonishing that Jaer couldn''t help but feel a sense of loss¡ªnot just of companions but of the ideals they once shared.


    Yet, despite this, he had dispatched a servant with a message, offering them a final chance to reconsider their stance. Deep down, Jaer clung to the hope that they still upheld the same vision as Yeso: a world where the gift of magic knowledge was a right afforded and belonged to every creature on land, sea and sky.


    This gave him a blurry idea that something sinister might be brewing right under his nose, and he could not discern it. But it gnawed at him, feeding his anxiety like clouds gathering before a storm.


    Forty-four days had passed¡ªthe agreed duration of Yeso''s confinement¡ªand it was time to release him. Their mission to stop the Great Exodus failed, and now they face a new goal. It was time to regroup, to gather those who wished to return to Ormgrund and assist those who chose to settle elsewhere on the Great Continent.


    As Jaer halted his restless pacing, the deep echo of approaching footsteps filled the air. He turned towards the source, his gaze landing on the majestic figure of the Dame, Veilla, the arbiter of Yeso''s fate. To the world, Yeso was condemned as a criminal, but Jaer and anyone who knew what was going on in the Great Continent knew the truth.


    The narrative of crime and punishment was straightforward. A good man, a valiant warrior, and an honourable Commander were retaliated against for acting benevolently towards her people, which was deemed unlawful. How could one be condemned for bearing the burden of others'' misdeeds?


    How?


    Veilla arrived, her entourage a striking vision in black robes¡ªMagis, guards, and, intriguingly, Finnegan, the Elven King. Jaer''s thoughts briefly wandered, pondering Finnegan''s prolonged presence at the palace. Was the Elven King still wooing his future bride, or did deeper machinations keep him anchored here? Jaer was tired of the theatricality of court.


    "Ollo, Jaer," Veilla greeted, her smile radiant, an odd juxtaposition to the solemnity of the occasion.


    "Ollo, my Dame," Jaer replied, his bow respectful but quick. His gaze then subtly shifted, acknowledging Finnegan with a silent nod. He didn''t feel he had anything to say.


    "Well, it''s time to let Yeso breathe fresh air; he must be tired of being left alone," Veilla commented, her smile unwavering, as if the gravity of a man''s freedom was akin to observing the phases of the moon.


    At her signal, the guards commenced their task. Their movements were a well-rehearsed dance of precision. Keys were inserted into the vault''s lock, turned with a resonance that echoed through the corridors, followed by the turning of the wheel, culminating in a final metallic crack that heralded the end of Yeso''s confinement.


    Finally, the subtle echo of footsteps resounded across the marble stone, and Jaer found himself nearly breathless. Yeso emerged, scarce from the man a moon ago. His hair had grown but a mere span of fingers. His face bore the marks of hunger¡ªpallid skin, eyes sunken like twilight shadows, and lips parched as if kissed by the desert wind. Most strikingly, his skin seemed to crack and fissure, revealing veins of molten gold that glinted with a life of their own.


    With a purposeful stride, Yeso advanced towards Veilla, oblivious to the sea of faces surrounding them. His voice, resonant and steely, uttered but a single sharp word, "Vacahure!"


    The air seemed to tremble with its utterance, every soul standing transfixed, eyes widened in a collective gasp of astonishment.


    "Yeso, I believe you are tired," Veilla began, her voice quavering slightly.


    "Vacahure! You are the architect of this?" Yeso gestured towards the door, his tone sharpening. "Tell me, Veilla, when? When did you build this... thing? Before or after you decided to marry me?"


    "Yeso, this matter is inconsequential¡ª"


    "If you don''t give me the when, at least give me the why?"


    "Because you wield the Sun''s power, yet remain but a mortal! You are no god!" Veilla''s composure shattered her words, resonating with authority but barely.


    "No, I am not a god. That much is true. And I don''t plan to be or to pretend to be. But I am the Master of the Golden Dragon, the very Sun that scorches the land, sea, and sky. I am the Master! The Sun does not reign over me; it is I who command its blaze!" he retorted, the golden veins on his skin shimmering fiercely.


    Some Magis began to approach, but the Dame signalled them to halt. "A single misstep from you could spell our doom. I had to safeguard my people!"


    A chuckle escaped Yeso, morphing into a laugh that rang with bitter irony. "Your people? The very ones being exiled from the Great Continent? Those whose blood runs red¡ªoh, but they don''t count, do they? We call them humans, infected! Like if they are the plague! Your people, whom you''ve cast into dungeons to rot, forgotten because your ''Spirit'' willed it? Or am I not people!"


    "You tread on dangerous ground, Yeso!"


    "Let me clarify this for you, Vacahure. You are not the Master of the Spider; it is the Spider that commands you. You do not govern all, only those you deign to notice. And I, Yeso Sternach, hereby renounce my allegiance to you. You are not my Dame! Not anymore! And my name will not recognise you or your crest! I renounce you, Veilla Mageschstea!"


    Though not loud, these words reverberated through the Capitol, not through their volume, but through the whispers that followed, toppling convictions like a house of cards. It was this proclamation that would shape the future of the Capitol and, with it, the destiny of the world.


    In losing Yeso, Veilla lost more than a formidable ally; she lost the cornerstone of her empire. And from that day, Fall crumbled, and Winter rose.


    <blockquote>


    Yeso Sternach, <s>my father</s>, who boldly rejected the crown of Rame, relished the relentless support of the Black Robes. His words carried a weight that transcended political divides; they were followed without question, without debate. So, when imprisoned for forty-four days, it was his public disavowal of the Fallqueen that shifted the political landscape. In that act, he set a course that led many, by necessity or conviction, to rally behind Fiona¡ª<s>there was no other choice.</s> <s>Had my father anticipated the full impact of his stand, might he have chosen a different path, a quieter rebellion?</s> Yet, it is not for us to judge his decision to abandon those who were indifferent to the plight of others. He acted in accordance with his conscience, driven by a desire for justice, and in doing so, left an indelible mark on our history. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0025] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    Por mir tu


    Phrase


    Translation: Thank You (Humbly Giving to You)


    Definition: In the Menschen language, "Por mir tu" is an expression that embodies a humble offering of gratitude. The phrase combines "Por," denoting a humble stance, "mir," signifying the act of giving, and "tu," a personal pronoun, culminating in a sentiment that translates to "I humbly offer my thanks to you." This expression goes beyond conventional politeness, reflecting a deep sense of humility and the giver''s sincere appreciation. It is particularly used in contexts where gratitude is not just felt but is deeply and respectfully offered.


    </blockquote>


    Jaer and Yeso found themselves in the Capital''s docks, where the air was thick with the briny scent of the sea and the distant cries of seagulls.


    Yeso, weary to his very bones, lay sprawled on the ground, his body ragged to the exhaustion that clawed at him. He draped an arm over his sour eyes.


    The Tiefling paced like a caged animal. His gaze darted in every direction, searching for any sign of their tardy comrades. "I don''t think they changed their minds, Yeso."


    "Let''s wait a little longer," Yeso murmured, his voice a raspy whisper borne of fatigue and stubborn hope. "I don''t want to leave anyone behind."


    "Yeso, I''m sorry to say it, but you''re being stubborn. Muru and Redfred... they said they want to stay," Jaer countered, his tone laced with a mixture of frustration and concern.


    "Let''s wait, Jaja." The words fell from Yeso''s lips, simple yet resolute like a prayer whispered into the gathering dusk. In the commotion that followed, the only sounds appeasing were the gentle lapping of waves against the docks and the distant call of a lonely seagull. Ignoring the bustling docks and the distant shouts of sailors fading.


    Amidst this scenario, a maid emerged, her attire unmistakably that of the Capitol''s uniform. The elegant lines of her dress contrasted starkly with the ruggedness of the docks, and her delicate features, typical of elfin heritage, shimmered in the fading light.


    Jaer, restless, couldn''t help but let his tail betray his impatience. His keen eyes instantly fell upon the elf maid. At that moment, a silent understanding passed between them¡ªa recognition that Yeso''s hope might be for nought.


    "Are you Yeso?" the maid inquired, her voice a gentle melody amidst the harsher dockside sounds. She studied Jaer, whose tail continued its restless dance with the embarrassment of who realised their mistake too late.


    "Do I look like..." Jaer said, a playful edge in his tone.


    "No, you don''t," she swiftly concurred, her gaze dropping momentarily to the wooden planks over Yeso¡¯s figure next to her feet. "Are you..."


    Before she could finish, Yeso interrupted, his voice tinged with resignation. "Yes, it''s me. What is the word?"


    With a grace befitting her kind, the maid retrieved an envelope from her apron and crouched to present it to the Commander. "They aren''t coming," she declared softly, ¡°Por Verzculpa¡±


    Yeso, aided by Jaer''s steady hand, rose to his feet. "Well... who am I to go against their will," he mused, his voice carrying a bitter edge as he tore open the envelope and scanned its contents. "They think they are more useful in the Capitol than Mir-Grande-Carta... as I see, I don''t even deserve a why. Seems to become a trend."


    "Commander..." the maid called out tentatively, a respectful bow punctuating her address. "Por mir tu¡­ for all you are doing. Thank you for protecting the elves... as well."


    Yeso''s gaze met hers. At that moment, he understood the gravity of their situation. Once he stepped foot on that boat, the Great Exodus would take place, changing the lives of every creature in the world.


    After not even a few hours on the ship, Yeso clung to the boat''s railing, his stomach convulsing into the void despite its emptiness. The waves, a ceaseless lullaby beneath them, seemed to mock his misery.


    "Yeso, you must rest! Please," Jaer pleaded. With a gentle yet firm grasp, he guided Yeso''s weakened form to a nearby bench, cradling his friend''s head in his lap. Jaer wiped Yeso''s mouth with his sleeve. "You''re in dire need of a bath."


    "Do I reek that bad?" Yeso''s words were laced with a bitter jest, even as his body rebelled against him. "Shit, I can''t bear for her to see me like this."


    "She likely senses your plight," Jaer reminded him, alluding to the Hexe that connected them. "Remember, it works both ways."


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Fucking Scheida!" Yeso exhaled.


    "First, she''ll be furious, then she¡¯ll be worried, and in the end, she''ll be there to tend to you like she does every single time."


    "I''m so fucking lucky," Yeso murmured. "So utterly fucking lucky! That woman was my salvation, and I didn''t even know it."


    "Indeed, you are," Jaer affirmed softly, padding Yeso''s cheek.


    "If I hadn''t crossed paths with my Hexe, if... I would''ve remained confined... never to see the Sun again."


    "Yet, fate wove a different path. You found her, followed the whispers of your heart, and here you are, striving to mend the fractures of this world."


    "And failing," Yeso added, his tone tinged with self-reproach.


    "But we tried nonetheless."


    "Not enough."


    "We still have the young prince to guide..."


    "It would take nothing short of a miracle for him to master even one element... to grasp the complexities of alchemy, he must understand all four."


    "Perhaps, as your Hexe was your beacon in the darkness, she might illuminate his path too," Jaer mused.


    "Yes, she is," Yeso''s voice faded, a smile threading through his exhaustion. "Jaer, may I ask you something?"


    "Will it be about Finnegan?"


    "No... not now. This is serious."


    "Finnegan¡¯s niceness is a very serious matter, but proceed, ask away."


    "Swear to me, if you ever encounter a young girl named Eura, you will shield her in my stead."


    Jaer was surprised. "Eura? Such an explicit name."


    The name Eura, meaning ''I am the Sun'' in their native Menschen, resonated with a newfound significance for Yeso. "I was ensnared in a peculiar dream, perhaps a hallucination... involving this girl... and you were there, aged and all. And in that dream, your affection for her eclipsed even that which you hold for me."


    "Cherishing her more than you? Such a notion seems hard to believe. I scarcely hold Finnegan in such high regard, and I like his... ''niceness,¡¯" Jaer quipped, his words ending in a light-hearted chuckle. "But why this fixation with this Eura?"


    "She was always there," Yeso revealed, his voice heavy with a sombre undertone. "She was there, constantly, hungry, tired, and miserable. Each day brought new scars upon her skin... I mean, I endured the lash once and was held captive for a month, yet she... she bore the marks of a lifetime''s imprisonment. She was not a child... but she was too young. Who does that?"


    "Could she have been guilty of some crime?"


    "Her only sin was mirroring my existence. I suspect that upon my death, the Sun might choose her as its new Master... she bore an uncanny resemblance to me. She had my eyes and my hair. She was small like my Hexe..."


    "A daughter, perhaps?"


    "Possibly."


    "Rest assured, I would safeguard your child, Eura, or not Eura, with my very life. Yet, consider that your starvation might have conjured illusions because... would you truly name a child Eura?" Jaer probed gently. "Really? Even for you is too pretentious."


    "No... I likely wouldn''t." Yeso sighed with a chuckle. "Perhaps it was merely a figment of my imagination."


    "Regardless, it''s a comfort to know she was there with you where I couldn¡¯t."


    "So, let''s laugh now, how was Finnegan? Did you find his broom stuck in his arse?" Yeso''s attempt at humour dissolved into coughing, a harsh reminder of his weakened state.


    "Almost, but... he''s about to take the matrimonial plunge," Jaer responded.


    "Married?" Yeso''s voice cracked, his bafflement evident. "To whom? Who¡¯s the guy?"


    "He''s vague about it. Says it''s someone in Omrgrund with no interest in... the traditional aspects of marriage. He''s indifferent about his heir, or so it seems. Beyond that, he didn''t share much," Jaer elaborated, filling the gaps in their conversation. "He was busy with other concerns... if you know what I mean, and it¡¯s a ¡®she¡¯"


    "He''s getting married to someone from the palace?" Yeso probed, his intrigue piqued, sensing a piece of the puzzle was missing. ¡°A woman? Are you sure?¡±


    "It''s unclear... could be anyone, really."


    "The only possibilities I can fathom are Veilla or..." Yeso''s words trailed off as he plunged his hand into his robe pocket, retrieving the envelope from Redfred. "Scheida... the Winterqueen¡­ Eura is real." Yeso finally mumbled.


    "What''s amiss?" Jaer inquired, his curiosity kindled. ¡°What do you mean Eura is real?¡±


    "I believe I''ve deciphered who Finnegan''s betrothed is." Yeso finally read the letter sent by Redfred again and began to read aloud, "Myself and Muru have decided to remain, awaiting our brethren who return to celebrate a union of earth and ice."


    "Redfred''s penchant for ornate language never ceases to amuse me," Jaer quipped.


    "Yes, ''earth'' signifies the elves... ''ice'' must refer to one of Veilla''s twin daughters, Fiona, I think." Yeso pondered, more to himself, "But she''s too young. Why would Veilla consent to this? And she''s with child, which makes even less sense."


    "My curiosity is piqued as to why Redfred and Muru are so invested in this wedding," Jaer mused. "I''m at a loss... but something about this feels... strange."


    Jaer''s gaze caught sight of a tiny white mouse as it scurried across the railing, swiftly vanishing into a narrow crack within the boat''s floor. How strange indeed, he has seen plenty of little white mice.


    <blockquote>


    The Great Exodus happened in the first Winter I was born into but never witnessed. This worldwide event, lasting four Falls and saw a dramatic migration with 5,451 Cogs and Naus sailing the Red Sea towards Ormbrug. This fleet primarily carried Menschen and Fae, seeking refuge or simply to return home. In contrast, most elves chose a different path, remaining on the Great Continent under The Elven King''s umbrella. This decision inadvertently contributed to the flourishing of the Green Mother Cult. Yet, the Great Exodus bore a poignant and personal tragedy. Many Menschen, in the chaos and heartbreak of departure, left behind their Halfling children¡ªborn of unions between Menschen and other bloods. These forsaken children, known later as The Nameless, were left to fend for themselves, devoid of family and heritage. Among them, Magi Mediah The Nameless emerged as a figure of resilience, embodying the struggle and spirit of those abandoned in a world reshaped by upheaval. But still, Magi Mediah made a name for himself even after suffering of Red Blood. Growing up, I could only hear and read about The Great Exodus, which was more than a mass movement; it was a catalyst for profound social and cultural transformations that continue to echo through generations. For me, it was the time I became myself an orphan, a Nameless.¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0026] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    Mir amo tu


    Meer ah-mo too


    Type: Phrase


    Meaning: "Mir amo tu" translates directly to "The love I give is you," which poetically means "I love you." It is a declaration of one''s love being entirely directed towards the person it is being said to.


    </blockquote>


    Jaer and Yeso''s boat sliced through the dawn''s frigid embrace, arriving as the day broke into a cold, nearly frozen morning, uncharacteristic of the usual climate. Jaer, with a steady arm, became Yeso''s anchor, letting his friend lean heavily against him as they disembarked from the bustling ship.


    It was no surprise to Jaer to find Noctavia and Mediah there, awaiting their arrival. However, a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes at the sight of Noctavia, enshrouded head to toe in a black shawl.


    Understanding flowed through Jaer like a silent river; the bond between two Hexe was profound, an unspoken language of emotions and sensations. He knew, without a doubt, that Noctavia could feel the storm of pain, exhaustion, and humiliation raging inside Yeso.


    Their eyes met¡ªYeso''s and Noctavia''s¡ªand at that moment, Yeso''s grip on Jaer loosened, a subtle but telling gesture. There stood Yeso, a man barely able to hold himself upright, awash in a sea of shame, unsure how to bridge the chasm to Noctavia.


    She, in turn, took the first step forward. Jaer watched, his heart in his throat, as Noctavia approached with a gait that hinted at a repressed slap of fury, almost as though she were a tempest about to strike. Yet, the anticipated storm never broke. Instead, she enveloped Yeso in a careful embrace, burying her face in his chest while his arms encircled her in a desperate, tight hold.


    In a hush barely more than a breath, Yeso''s words, "Por verzculpa," quivered in the air, a tender, private admission to Noctavia. "You were right. I am so, so sorry. I¡¯m so¡­ por verzculpa"


    Her response, gentle as a whisper of spring, flowed back, "It''s fine. You''re here now," soothing the raw edges of his troubled spirit.


    "I''ve severed ties with Veilla."


    "We''ll find a way through this," Noctavia reassured him.


    "I never wanted to let you down. I failed you..."


    "No, no you haven''t," she insisted, her voice a soft caress in the chill air. "You''re here, and that''s all that matters. Mir amo tu."


    His reply, "Mir amo tu es," was a vow sealed with a kiss upon her forehead.


    As they walked their path to the horses, Yeso''s gaze, laden with fatigue and bewilderment, inadvertently followed the white mouse. This tiny, enigmatic creature continued its silent vigil, a ghostly sentinel in their midst. Who''s spirit was that?


    Upon their return to their settlement, Yeso was immediately enveloped by an air of desolation. The lively hum of the community had faded, leaving behind a ghostly quiet, as many had departed without a whisper of their whereabouts. In this eerie stillness, Noctavia led Yeso to their tent.


    With a gentle touch, she helped Yeso onto their bed. Since their reunion at the docks, her words had been few, but her attention was focused, tender and completely devoted.


    Carefully, she eased away his robe, her face betraying a flash of pain at the sight of his half-healed scars and his short hair. But she said nothing, choosing instead to bite her tongue and treat his wounds with herbal remedies. Throughout, the black shawl remained her constant companion, draped around her shoulders.


    The silence was broken by Yeso''s hesitant voice, "My Love?"


    "Hmm?"


    "Why are you covered?"


    "It''s cold," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.


    But the cold Yeso did not feel. "Is something wrong?"


    "No, nothing," she reassured, her hands moving with gentle precision as she tended each wound on his back.


    "I feel like you''re keeping something from me."


    "I''m not," she said firmly, her focus unwavering as she continued her care.


    "My love," he implored, trying to meet her eyes, "Please, show me."


    "Are you hungry?" she deflected.


    "Show me."


    "No," came her gentle refusal.


    His eyes searched hers for an answer. "Why?"


    At that moment, Howl, sensing his master''s unrest, appeared from the shadows, a white mouse perched comically atop his head. "Everything is okay, Howl," Noctavia murmured, taking a deep breath before slowly unwinding the shawl, revealing a blouse stretched over a subtly rounded belly.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Oh... is that it? You''ve gained weight?" Yeso''s voice was surprised and relieved.


    "I''m not fat!" Noctavia''s offense was clear.


    Struggling, Yeso sat up. "Love, you barely eat. I''m actually happy you''ve gained a bit."


    "I''m not fat, Yeso!"


    "You''re right, you''re just a bit more... round," he said, instantly regretting his words.


    "I''m not fat," she repeated.


    Yeso''s gaze shifted to Howl, who now hid his eyes with his paws, seemingly embarrassed for the both of them. Meanwhile, the mouse scurried around the tent in a state of confusion as though searching for something elusive or maybe someone. Yeso''s mind flickered with recognition; he was certain he had seen this mouse before.


    Turning back to Noctavia, whose usual grace and modesty in her wardrobe were well-known, he began to think he had grasped the root of her distress.


    Hesitantly, he offered, "You can use my robes and shirts if you want..." His voice trailed off, unsure if he was doing another faux pas.


    Howl dug his paws deeper over his eyes, a silent commentator on the awkward exchange. "Or not... you look good to me..." Yeso bit his lip, feeling utterly defeated. "I don''t know what to say, love!"


    His Hexe chuckled, a lightness in her voice as she insisted, "I''m not fat," her gaze intense upon him.


    "You''re not fat, I know that. I never said it. You''re always beautiful to me, no matter if..." Yeso''s words faltered. "Everyone thinks you''re beautiful."


    She placed his hand on her belly, repeating, "I''m not fat."


    "I understand you''re not fat!" He shook his head, confusion clouding his features. "I... I mean..."


    "Yeso..."


    "Yes?"


    "I''m not fat."


    "You''re not fat..." he echoed awkwardly, his hands gingerly resting against her belly.


    "Because..."


    "Because... no... no way!" Realization dawned in his wide eyes as they flicked back to the frenetic mouse. "That... little mouse... it''s a spirit." He pointed. "It''s... not my spirit, it''s not your spirit, so it''s..."


    Noctavia nodded gently. "She has been around for a while because I..."


    "No... really?" Yeso''s hands now fully embraced her belly. "I can''t feel it. Shouldn''t I feel something?"


    "It''s still just a bean, a tiny saatgut..." Noctavia''s hand covered his.


    "No... no way, I''m a... I''m going to be..."


    "Yes."


    "Are you sure? Of course, you''re sure! What am I talking about... I''m going to be a..."


    "A dad," she finished for him. ¡°You are going to be a papavida!¡±


    Yeso awoke the next morning, his world momentarily obscured by a cascade of golden dreadlocks that tumbled across his face. He brushed them aside with his fingers, only for one to rebelliously swing back into his view. He brushed them away once more, and stubbornly, they fell again. Rising, he felt the weight of the braids sweeping over his shoulders.


    Yeso, with his curiosity, teased, picked up a mirror from a nearby table; he observed his reflection: from diamond roots sprouted golden braids and dreadlocks, each interwoven with meticulous care.


    His brow furrowed in confusion. "My love?"


    Turning to his Hexe, still ensconced in sleep, he noticed her hair barely brushed her shoulders. She had sheared her own locks to craft his elaborate dreadlocks. Once again, this woman rendered him utterly speechless with her selflessness.


    Yeso returned to the bed, gently enfolding her in his arms.


    "What time is it?" she murmured.


    "Sleep, it''s early."


    "But I''m hungry."


    "What do you want, my love?"


    "Apple pie."


    "Apple pie? But you don''t even like it," he chuckled softly, knowing that while Noctavia had no particular fondness for apple pie, it was his own favourite. "Are you trying to spoil me?"


    "It''s not for you, it''s for the baby."


    "Well, then, it is no doubt my daughter," he teased lightly.


    Noctavia lifted her head to look at him. "It''s not a girl."


    "It is. I saw her in my dreams. Her name is Eura," Yeso said with a warm smile.


    "Eura? I won''t call her that; it''s far too pretentious," she chuckled, settling her head once more against his chest. "It''s a boy, and we''ll name him Orlo."


    "But if it''s a girl, her name will be Eura."


    "Why?"


    "Because she told it to me... in a dream. I think it suits her."


    Noctavia, with a soft groan, propped herself up against the pillows, the back of her hand rubbing her face. "I''m thirsty... and bloated. I don''t want to leave the bed!"


    "Then stay," Yeso replied with a tender smile. "Just whisper your wish, and I shall fetch anything you ask for."


    "Like a servant?" she teased.


    "Like the most devoted servant," he quipped back, lifting her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.


    "But duty calls." She sighed. "Xendrix''s ceremony won''t prepare itself, and I still have to complete his robe."


    "He conquered his trials then?"


    "Well, in a sense. He''s woven his understanding through the four elements, yet the Trial remains to confirm his mastery. He''s planning a surprise for us, some kind of recompense for the ordeal you endured. That boy, he''s a relentless torrent of words and energy," she laughed lightly despite the hint of weariness in her voice. "He''s utterly exhausting but endearingly so."


    As she spoke, Yeso''s gaze lingered on her, filled with admiration and affection that only a Hexe could have, his love for her evident in the softness of his eyes sliding down her cleavage.


    As they spoke, from seemingly nowhere, a cascade of golden lilies began to materialize, their delicate petals unfurling like whispers of sunlight. They seemed to dance on an unseen breeze, gradually coating the interior of the tent in a tapestry of gold. A sweet, heady scent lingered like a tender caress of warm honey, transforming the tent into a sanctuary of serene beauty and magic.


    "What is this?" Noctavia asked, oblivious to the fact that her clothing was more revealing than usual.


    Yeso¡¯s gaze lingered on Noctavia''s chest, his face flushing ¨C a rare occurrence for him these days. He seemed transfixed.


    Realizing where his focus lay, Noctavia sat up, a playful edge in her voice. "I tell you you¡¯re going to be a father, and it is the size of my breasts that makes you happy?"


    "They are... you know..."


    "Bigger?"


    "I wouldn''t say it quite like that..." Yeso replied, his voice soft as he leaned in to kiss her, gently easing her back onto the pillow covered in flowers, his hands wandering beneath her shirt with a tender touch. "But they did catch my attention."


    Just as Noctavia''s blouse began its ascent, and Yeso''s own garments neared their union with hers upon the tent''s floor, before his lips could even touch the skin of her breath, their intimate moment was abruptly shattered.


    The sudden, jubilant exclamation, "Good morning!" from Mediah, pierced the air. The young Magi entered with the homely offerings of a warm apple pie and steaming tea for breakfast, unknowingly fracturing the spell of their tender interlude.


    "I did it again, didn''t I?"


    <blockquote>


    Appearances can be deceptive, especially when it comes to the Menschen. At first glance, they may seem modest in comparison to the extravagance of other species, with their unadorned attire and bare feet. Yet, this simplicity belies a profound cultural preoccupation with the length and style of their hair. It is within this filamentous tapestry that the Menschen encode their social hierarchies. For the male Menschen, braided hair is not merely a personal choice but a public declaration of rank. The complexity of a braid can articulate one''s position within the societal ladder, much like the ornate regalia of a monarch. Moreover, the venerable length of one''s hair is a chronicle of age and wisdom. To cut the hair of a Magi, the Menschen''s revered figures, is to mete out a punishment of severe social and personal consequence, akin to the gravest penalties known to the world. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0027] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    Amoernt


    Noun


    Definition: A distinct class of mages who specialize in siphoning magical energy through the channeling of positive emotions. Unlike their counterparts, who syphon trough the four elemental channels, Amoernts draw their power from the depth and intensity of feelings such as love, joy, and desire. Although potent in their magical capabilities, Amoernts are often viewed as lesser mages due to the intimate and personal nature of their power source, particularly when their magic is most commonly drawn through sexual connections. Hence, why they are referred more as Incubus.


    </blockquote>


    On the outskirts of the camp, nestled in a clearing where the woods were to the meandering river, Ulencia and Xendrix were diligently overlooking the grass. Xendrix was working a few feet away from the halfling.


    "Think I found one!" Ulencia almost shouted.


    Xendrix hastened to her side, where she had uncovered a black, squashed, eight-legged bug. "That''s one for the basket," he confirmed.


    "How many more have you killed?"


    "We''ll find them," he deflected, his usual talkative nature subdued in her presence. "Have you given any thought to my proposal?" he blurted out, surprising even himself.


    Ulencia''s movements were abrupt as she straightened, her skirt swiftly falling to veil her legs once more. "What proposal?" she asked, her tone edged with a hint of impatience.


    "The one we discussed earlier," Xendrix replied, a note of insistence creeping into his voice.


    "You''ve become an alchemist, Xendrix. You don''t need my aid anymore," Ulencia stated matter-of-factly, turning her back to him as she continued her task.


    "But wouldn''t you like it? I could offer you anything, fulfil any desire," he pressed, his voice had the taste of bribery.


    Ulencia paused, her back still turned. "It''s not as straightforward as you think," she said, her voice tense.


    "Is it because of him?"


    "You mean Mediah?"


    "Is it?"


    Her response came hesitantly, "I... I don''t know. The thought of being someone''s wife, a queen no less, it''s overwhelming."


    "But consider the power, the influence you could wield for the Menschen, for humans," Xendrix urged, "Your blood and my throne could make all the difference!"


    Her frustration found its way into her voice, growing louder despite her intentions. "I don''t know, Xendrix!"


    His next words came out sharp, tinged with an underlying pain, "Is the idea of being with me so repulsive? Would you actually prefer a filthy incubus?"


    "Leave Mediah out of this; he has never wronged you," Ulencia stated firmly, stepping closer to Xendrix until they were nearly nose to nose.


    "Why the hesitation? I offer you a title, protection, and power, and yet you''d squander it all for a mere fling?" Xendrix''s words spilt out unbridled, his restraint crumbling.


    "Mediah is a Magi! His power is beyond your comprehension, beyond anything your alchemy could ever grasp!" Ulencia retorted, her voice rising in defence.


    The argument escalated, raw and unfiltered. "He''s nothing but a fuckboy! That''s his power; trickery, and I ain''t blind to it, Ulencia. It just makes you his..."


    Ulencia cut him off sharply, "His whore? You think calling me that is going to win me over, convince me to marry you?"


    "Your options are clear. After I complete my trial tonight, you will accompany me. Or..."


    "Or what?"


    "Or I will return with an army¡ªa thousand men. It''s as simple as that."


    "Are you threatening me?"


    "I''m thinking of your well-being since you seem blinded by your twat infatuation."


    With a swift step forward, Ulencia''s hand connected sharply with Xendrix''s cheek, the sound of the slap resonating through the clearing. "Find someone else for your dead spider hunts." She turned on her heel, leaving him alone, his hand nursing his stinging cheek and his bruised pride.


    In the meantime, on the opposite side of the clearing, a grizzly bear plunged its massive paw deep into the tree, likely rousing a hive of bees in its quest for honey; Mediah, concealed behind bushes, was conjuring an ethereal arrow, a blend of debris and thunder, potent enough to swiftly and painlessly dispatch the bear.


    "Para! Let him be fully distracted with the honey," Jaer murmured quietly.


    "To sweeten the meat?" Mediah half-joked, struggling to suppress his laughter.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    "It''s to ensure he''s thoroughly distracted so he won''t notice us," Jaer explained, imparting his wisdom.


    "Smart."


    Eventually, the bear reached further into the tree, its paw now coated in a stream of glistening, golden honey.


    "Ja!" Jaer commanded, and at his signal, the arrow was released. It flew swiftly and accurately, piercing the bear''s skull cleanly, entering and exiting in one fluid, lethal motion.


    "Well executed," Jaer complimented, standing and approaching their prey. "Your control is improving consistently."


    "Do you really think so?"


    "Judging by our fallen friend here, I''d say so. Your kind of power..."


    Before Jaer could finish, Mediah interjected, "An incubus."


    ¡±Amoernt is the correct term, young Magi**,**¡± Jaer shook his head slightly. "Incubus is such an ugly word¡ªa harsh term. Water mages draw water, whether from the clouds or a body. It''s about choice."


    "And how should I channel my power?" Mediah asked, the underlying implication clear¡ªhis power stemmed from the intimate connections of creature, love, lust and sex.


    "Have you ever caused harm?" Jaer, with the strength of a tiefling, effortlessly gathered the bear''s paws, hoisting the massive creature onto his shoulder. His smile was encouraging as he looked at Mediah. "Ulencia doesn''t seem to bear any marks of distress or harm from your affections."


    "I''m very careful, always in control," Mediah responded, ashamed.


    "How so?" Jaer asked, his curiosity piqued as he began walking back towards the camp, the bear''s weight resting easily on his shoulders.


    Mediah hesitated before explaining, "She''s into it, enjoys it... but I don''t... well, reach the..."


    "Ah, stopping before the finish line," Jaer nodded, understanding the implication. "A precaution?"


    "Yeah. Losing control could harm her, so I never cross that line."


    "That''s why you keep walking in on the Commander and Noctavia?"


    Mediah''s face flushed with embarrassment. "That was unintentional! Their tent doesn''t exactly come with doors to knock on!"


    ¡°But you sense it. Ulencia, although beautiful, is not enough for you. You need a partner with a powerful saatgut! Someone you won¡¯t be able to drain ever.¡±


    As Jaer and Mediah approached the camp, they were greeted by a scene of modest festivity. A table had been arranged in the heart of the settlement for the upcoming ceremony. The place was surrounded by children and their mothers busy adorning the camp with wildflowers and ribbons. The decorations breathed some life into the site. Yet, it couldn''t quite recapture the vibrancy it once had before the Magis'' departure to the Capitol.


    The pair took their hunt catch to an improvised outdoor kitchen, where the animal would be prepared for roasting. Jaer had already offered his assistance in the cooking process while Mediah roamed the camp, looking for additional ways to contribute.


    He contemplated visiting the Commander and Noctavia, but given his recent track record, he figured they might be otherwise ''engaged.¡¯


    Muru''s absence weighed on Mediah. Despite their frequent disagreements, Muru had always provided stimulating conversation and debate, something Mediah now realized he had taken for granted. Feeling increasingly isolated, he began to ponder his future, especially once everyone else departed. With no family ties and seemingly no one to rely on, he felt adrift.


    His contemplations were abruptly halted when he stumbled upon Ulencia, who was secluded among some crates, tears streaming down her face, away from the watchful eyes of the camp. Given his reputation for being nosy, he figured delving into her troubles wouldn''t much alter how he was perceived.


    "Ollo," he greeted softly, peering into her makeshift refuge.


    "Go away," she muttered, not looking up.


    "Why are you crying?"


    "Why does it matter to you?"


    "We''re friends, right?"


    Ulencia let out a bitter laugh. "Friends?"


    "We''re not?"


    "I suppose we are," she conceded, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.


    Mediah squeezed into the space beside her and tenderly kissed her shoulder. "Talk to me. What''s bothering you?"


    "It''s nothing," she insisted. "I''m just being stupid."


    "I''m here to listen. Really, I am." His tone was sincere, offering her a safe space to share her troubles.


    Ulencia took a deep, steadying breath. "Can you imagine us winning if tomorrow or... maybe, after tomorrow, we were invaded by a thousand-strong human army?"


    "That''s a heavy question," Mediah mused, pausing briefly to consider. "No, we wouldn''t stand a chance."


    "But Yeso, he''s as mighty as the sun, right? He could turn the tide?"


    "If he weren''t so weakened. He''s barely on his feet, Ulencia. He''s been starved and confined in a space so small he couldn''t even pace properly, from what I heard. Plus, humans have their own strengths."


    "How? They lack magic!" Ulencia protested with a desperate hope for contradiction.


    "They possess firearms and strategic prowess. It''s not just their numbers; their military tactics are formidable. Perhaps with ample preparation, we might stand a chance. But as things are now, with our limited number of Magi, it''d be a fleeting endeavour¡ªa lost cause."


    "But you''re strong!"


    "My magic has its limits; it drains," Mediah explained.


    "What if I... spent the entire night with you? And we made love all night; could that boost your strength?" Her question sounded like a last-ditch effort, all cards laid on the table.


    "Ulencia, you''re upset, you''re anxious and angry. And I don''t fully understand why. But I would never exploit you to sleep with me like this. Besides, at this moment, I could only draw pain from you, and pain doesn''t fuel my magic. It doesn''t work like that."


    "So if an army came tomorrow, we''d have to flee?"


    "It would be the wisest choice," Mediah replied and finally chuckled. "But that is not going to happen with having the little king with us. You''re safe."


    Accepting the reality of their situation, Ulencia leaned in, resting her head on Mediah¡¯s shoulder. She found comfort in his unique scent, an intriguing blend of sand and iodine that always lingered around him. She realized she had never delved into his past, never asked about his origins or his family. Mediah was not one to volunteer much about himself.


    But at that moment, Ulencia found small solace in the thought that whatever decision she made would be for the sake of people like Mediah¡ªthose who wore their hearts on their sleeves and whose smiles could make even the darkest moments feel a little brighter.


    And only the Spirits knew how much she would need it.


    <blockquote>


    Magi Mediah was a visionary. He was a mentor to Magis from diverse corners of the map. His most notable contribution, however, lay in the martial innovations he brought to the fore. Mediah redefined the dynamics of melee combat by integrating spellcasting with martial prowess, thus pioneering a new echelon of warriors¡ªthe Battlemages.


    His strategic genius was encapsulated in the creation of the Ulencia Sword, colloquially termed the ''dual dancing sword.'' This ingenious armament consisted of a pair of swords, each tethered to a chain that looped around the wrists of a mage. The essence of Mediah''s innovation was in the wrist movements¡ªa balletic manipulation of the chains that not only conjured a swirling defence barrier created by the blades but also afforded the magi the crucial moments needed to weave their spells. The Ulencia Swords were not just weapons; they were the conduits for a tactical revolution, significantly reducing the number of Magi required on the battlefield while augmenting their effectiveness. Magi Mediah redefined the art of war with a simple goal: could a Magi alone fight a thousand men? ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0028] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    Invoka mir Ketten


    Phrase


    Translation: Summon of Chains


    Definition: "Invoka mir Ketten" is a powerful and intricate spell in the Alchemy lexicon, originally created by the Magi Commander Yeso Sternach. Initially intended to summon Yeso himself, this spell''s formula has undergone significant alterations over time. The current iteration of "Invoka mir Ketten" is known for its ability to summon and subsequently imprison the summoner, a twist on its original purpose. This spell intertwines elements of alchemy and conjuration, manifesting chains that bind the invoker.


    </blockquote>


    "Come to bed," Yeso groaned into the pillows, immobilized by the cold poultice layered over his scarred back. "Love!"


    "I''m nearly done; just need to double-stitch this line," she replied, her concentration unwavering as she worked on the floor, her legs aching and feet swollen from discomfort.


    "Zonnestra?"


    "Just a bit more time, love," she chuckled, her hands still sewing.


    "You''ve imprisoned me here," he playfully grumbled. "And it''s dreadfully boring without you. Save me."


    Finally, she snapped the thread with her teeth and stood, shaking out the purple robe before draping it over a chair. "Done," she declared, making her way to the bed''s edge to gently peel away the gauze. "I should make more of this."


    "No!" Yeso protested, sitting up. "Perhaps tomorrow, but that''s enough for now."


    "Why the long, grumpy face?" Noctavia asked, slipping into bed beside Yeso and brushing aside some golden lilies from her pillow.


    "I''m not, just... frustrated with how things turned out. I don''t like feeling defeated," Yeso admitted, "It feels like everything was for nothing."


    "We haven''t been defeated, Yeso. It''s just that things have shifted. This place isn''t our home anymore or anyone''s, actually."


    Yeso hesitated before speaking. "I''ve been thinking... how would you feel about moving now to Faewood? Our girl could grow up there where I did."


    "It''s a boy. His name will be Orlo," Noctavia reminded him.


    "Yes, our child, Orlo or... Eura," Yeso corrected, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Faewood is where I learned from the fairies and faes how to care for each other. How to value life and what surrounds us. It made me feel safe. And it''s safe and..."


    "Aren''t fairies cannibals?" Noctavia interjected, jesting.


    "Only when necessary... or when they''re hungry," he replied, a wry grin on his face. "But you know, it''s home for us¡­ we spoke about it."


    "You really want to go back, don''t you?"


    "I do, but only if it''s what you want as well. We need to be in agreement," he said, his eyes conveying a silent plea. "We are a team."


    Noctavia reached out, gently tucking a braid behind his ear. "Would it make you truly happy?"


    "I''m happiest wherever you are," Yeso said earnestly. "But I want our family to be safe, for our child to grow up happy, as I did. But I need to know it will make you happy as well; otherwise, what''s the point?"


    "I''m happy where you are happy."


    As dawn broke, casting its first light over the camp adorned for the upcoming rise of a prince into an alchemist, the air buzzed with happy anticipation. Women busily prepared food, while men fine-tuned musical arrangements. Noctavia woke up and was taken aback to see Yeso, typically the last to rise, already up and dressed in his black robe, engrossed in writing on some papers.


    "Ollo amo es?" she greeted him, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.


    "Ollo mir amo es," Yeso replied, a proud smile on his face. "I''ve got apple pie and green tea for you. Today is a big day for you, too."


    "Apple pie? You didn''t have any?" she inquired, already taking a bite without waiting for an answer.


    "I''m feeding my Hexe and our daughter with only the best," he replied with a grin.


    Noctavia rolled her eyes playfully. "You''re setting yourself up for disappointment."


    Yeso laughed and shrugged. "Honestly, I''d be relieved if it''s a boy."


    His comment left Noctavia puzzled, but she chose not to delve deeper. She observed him sitting at the table, his focus intent on the paper before him, where he was meticulously drawing intricate shapes and symbols. Curious, she asked, "Is that a spell you''re working on?¡±


    "Alchemy," Yeso corrected gently.


    "For the ceremony? For the boy, Xendrix?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.


    "If we''re leaving him to rule his kingdom alone with his father, it seems wise to offer him a means to summon me," Yeso said thoughtfully, continuing his work on the paper. "Perhaps he isn''t as troublesome as..."


    "Do you believe he can be trusted?"


    Yeso paused, considering his words. "If he''s mastered the four elements with his red blood lineage, he deserves my respect. And regardless of the colour of the robe, it still signifies a commitment. I won''t abandon any one of my mages."


    "What have you named the spell?"


    "I''m calling it the Invoka mir Ketten. What do you think?"


    "The Summon of Chains? Why choose that name?"


    Yeso looked up with a slight smirk. "It just has a certain ring to it, doesn''t it?"


    Not too long after, every community member gathered around the ceremonially set table. Xendrix, clad in his immaculate dark purple robe prepared by Noctavia, stood at the centre, surrounded by other Magis. Sensing the right moment, Yeso stood, a cup of wine in hand, ready to address the assembly.


    "Ollo! Ollo! Eu falar es!¡± Yeso gently shouted, greeting the crowd. ¡°We may be far from the Trial of Elements, distant from the heart of Ormgrund, but today, we stand united to embrace one of our own. He hails not from our lineage, nor does he share our blood. Many claimed it impossible. Voices rose to call us fools, dreamers for believing in the possible impossible."


    Yeso''s gaze swept across the gathered faces ¨C Jaer, his dearest friend and most trusted confidant; Mediah, who had not only shown unwavering loyalty but had also mastered his unique abilities, continued to exude humility and maintained a warm, welcoming smile for all. And finally, his eyes rested on Noctavia.


    "In my dreams, and with all my heart, every single bit I could give her, I never doubted the one often overlooked among us. She, who you all don¡¯t know her real name, may not don the black robe, not for lack of worthiness, but because she transcends the need for it. My Hexe, love of my life and mother to my child, your friend, healer, and tailor, Noctavia for many, who has transformed the seemingly impossible into reality, who has made me the proudest and happiest man alive."


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Yeso''s voice carried to every corner of the assembled crowd. "Love of my life and after, you brought my dream for this world to life at a time when I was at my lowest. Words cannot fully capture the depth of my pride and gratitude for having you as my Hexe."


    Turning his attention to Xendrix, Yeso''s expression held a mixture of solemnity and hope. "And now, Xendrix, you stand at a crossroads. You have the power to render my words here today either the ramblings of a fool or the prologue to a new chapter in the annals of magic."


    As all eyes turned to Xendrix, he reached down to lift a basket that had been resting inconspicuously at his feet. Without a word, he carefully placed it on the table, then drew out the sword Noctavia had presented to him during the Earth trial. To her surprise, he did not display the other tokens required for the ceremony, which traditionally involved summoning all four elements.


    From the basket, Xendrix began to extract small, dark objects. The crowd murmured, straining to see what he was placing in a line on the table. It took Noctavia a moment, narrowing her eyes in concentration, to recognize them as dead spiders. Some were so crushed they were barely recognizable, but others retained their eight-legged shape.


    A wave of confused whispers rippled through the crowd. Noctavia''s unease grew when she noticed Ulencia among the onlookers, her eyes red and puffy, the air heavy with a sense of Mir fado.


    She glanced at Yeso, who watched with pride. She tried to shake off the growing sense of foreboding, attributing it perhaps to her pregnancy, which seemed to amplify her instincts of danger.


    Xendrix began to speak, his voice clear and tinged with phoney remorse. "I killed one hundred and two spiders. And Yeso paid the price for my actions, a burden I will forever bear. I cannot forgive my past ignorance. Living among you has taught me so much, and I wanted to demonstrate that I am more than what was expected of me to redeem my past mistakes and faults. Yet, I can never fully atone, as I only found forty-four of the spiders whose lives I so cruelly took."


    The crowd watched as Xendrix pressed the dull edge of the blade against the palm of his hand. With more effort than a sharper blade would have required, he sliced into his flesh, clenching his hand into a fist until droplets of blood began to fall, each drop landing on the lifeless spiders.


    His face lowered until his eyes were level with the spiders on the table. There were no incantations, no grand gestures¡ªonly the sound of his laboured breathing, so intense that blood began to trickle from his eyes and nose.


    Noctavia felt Yeso''s arms encircle her, his body tense. She could sense his apprehension bordering on dread. Xendrix was tapping into his own life force, a forbidden and dangerous seed of power that no mage across the realms would dare to use.


    The onlookers watched, some in horror, some in awe, as Xendrix visibly drained his vitality into the spell. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the dead spiders began to stir. One leg twitched, then another; one spider turned over, and another began to crawl away from the pool of blood. In mere minutes, all forty-four spiders were animated, scuttling away into the shadows, leaving behind a palpable void of energy where Xendrix stood, weakened yet triumphant.


    Xendrix rose to his feet, his eyes bleeding ablaze with an unsettling intensity that bordered on madness. He fixed his gaze on Noctavia, who felt immobilized, caught in the protective circle of Yeso''s arms.


    "You have to declare it," Xendrix demanded, his laugh tinged with an edge of hysteria as he bore into Noctavia with his piercing gaze.


    It was Yeso who initially responded, "Xendrix..."


    "No!" the young prince interjected forcefully. "I want to hear it from my mentor."


    Yeso looked towards Noctavia, who slowly extricated herself from his embrace and approached Xendrix. "Prince Xendrix Kespian of Keblurg, you have passed your Trial of Elements by..." She paused, searching for the right word. What had she just witnessed? A ritual of life? Of death? Finally, she chose "by blood."


    The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause thunderous, feet stomping the ground, voices raised in victory. But to Noctavia, the celebration rang hollow. In her heart, she felt as though she had just handed over the key to her own demise, unlocking a door to an unknown and foreboding future to her death.


    <hr>


    The festivity continued well into the twilight, with music and dance mingling with the laughter and food, until most settlers were either too inebriated or too sated to move. Despite the general air of merriment, an undercurrent of unease lingered for some, a sour taste on their tongue, the reason for it not quite clear.


    Yeso, however, clung to optimism¡ªthere wasn''t much else left for him to do. Even though he failed, his mission was completed. He knew that soon, people would start departing, one by one, and the Capitol would send ships to return their citizens to their perceived homelands. And others would venture through the map of the Great Continent, Mir-Grande-Carta.


    Observing Xendrix mingling, laughing, and drinking among the crowd, Yeso noted how the young man almost blended in perfectly with the Menschen, if not for the absence of a blue undertone in his skin and short brown hair.


    Yeso approached Xendrix, slightly unsteady on his feet, and clapped him on the shoulder with tipsy enthusiasm. "So, how''s the robe treating you?"


    Xendrix, equally buoyant from the celebrations, grinned, his face flushed with the telltale signs of merriment. "It''s comfy, though black would''ve been better."


    "Ah, but think of it this way¡ªnot many can boast about owning a purple robe," Yeso quipped with an inebriated smile. He then added, more seriously, "I''ve got something for you. A parting gift."


    "Ah, finally, my gift."


    From his pocket, Yeso fumbled out a folded paper, handing it over to Xendrix. Unfolding them, the young alchemist observed a circle divided into four, each quarter containing the drawing of a cup, a branch, a sword, and a coin. Above the circle was the symbol of infinity. "What''s this?"


    "I''ve called it the Summon of Chains. If you ever need a Magi, if you ever need me, use it. I''ll be there," Yeso explained, his words slightly slurred but earnest. ¡°You know my name, so it¡¯s a rather easy summon.¡±


    "Wow, I... I didn''t expect this. I thought you guys were leaving."


    "Yes, we are. But I never leave one of my own behind. Never."


    Xendrix''s eyes traced the intricate lines of the signet. "Thank you..."


    "And thank you for helping bridge the gap between Menschen and Humans. It truly means¡­ more than you can imagine." Yeso added, his tone sincere.


    "How do you say ''thank you'' in your language?"


    "Por mir tu," Yeso replied.


    "Por mir tu, Yeso," Xendrix echoed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.


    "Mir," Yeso responded warmly.


    "I asked Ulencia to marry me," Xendrix suddenly revealed.


    The surprise on Yeso''s face was noticeable, quickly shifting to curiosity. "She said yes?"


    "We''re leaving tomorrow. I would''ve invited you and Noctavia to the wedding, but..."


    "But my Hexe will not be up for travelling soon. We''re heading back to my hometown. I want her to have a peaceful pregnancy and Faewood is the best place I can think of now."


    "I understand." Xendrix nodded.


    "I hope your reign is long, prosperous and just."


    "I do hope so," Xendrix responded, but then, he changed the topic and asked, ¡°You mentioned that Noctavia isn¡¯t her real name. Is that so?¡±


    Yeso let out a chuckle. ¡°No, it''s merely a title, signifying ''weaver of the night.'' It''s a designation for esteemed tailors in the Capitol.¡±


    ¡°And her true name is?"


    Yeso, slightly inebriated and in high spirits, failed to grasp the gravity of his next words. Unaware that divulging the full name of a powerful mage could expose them to magical vulnerabilities, he carelessly revealed, ¡°Zonnestra.¡±


    ¡°Zonnestra Sternach, that''s a beautiful name, far better than Noctavia.¡±


    Shaking his head with a laugh, Yeso corrected, ¡°We were never wed. She retained her father''s surname, Duvencrune. Her full name is Zonnestra Duvencrune.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that''s quite intriguing,¡± Xendrix remarked, absorbing the significance of this new revelation. He now had all four elements he needed: a blade, blood, life force, and a name¡ªof the most powerful mage ever known to the story of the Map.


    <blockquote>


    I grew up with Faeries, and to this day, they still amaze me. Predominantly inhabitants of Faewood, they present an eternal youthfulness, their lithe forms crowned with resplendent wings that shimmer like those of a moth. One might mistake these winged maidens for human women in the prime of life, yet they are, in truth, very old creatures, their lifespans may stretching across centuries.


    Typically encountered in pairs or small clusters, faeries emerge from blossoms¡ªspecifically, the Cunabula Pr?dictas. My research revealed a fascinating cultural nuance: faeries refer to those birthed from the same bloom as ''Twin Sisters,'' despite the absence of any physical resemblance or genetic linkage beyond their shared green blood.


    The honour of witnessing a faerie birth was once bestowed upon me. The event unfurled amidst what I initially perceived as a swarm of fireflies. To my astonishment, not youthful sprites but old figures emerged from a colossal Cunabula Pr?dictas. These newly born faeries bore the marks of advanced age: wrinkled skin, stooped frames, and pallid hair¡ªmore akin to the Swamp Hags of folklore than the sprightly faeries of legend.


    Around me, the assembled faeries extolled the nascent beings'' ''Pure Beauty,'' a concept I would later understand to be radically different from the faerie worldview. For faeries, beauty inverses with age; they wane from the aged visage of their birth into the vibrant youthfulness perceived by mortals. In their twilight years, they transform into ethereal, luminous forms, signalling the approach of their life''s end.


    An old friend once imparted a poignant adage: ''Pure Beauty awakes the Reaper from his rest.'' ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0029] - Zonnestra

    <blockquote>


    I hex with whispers soft as night''s own hush.


    Feel my highs, my lows, the push and shove,


    In every quiet, fleeting rush, I hex you.


    I hex, I''ll taste the same, the skin, the tear


    I hex your ups, your pull, your touch and your tongue.


    While speaking, screaming or hiding. I will be there,


    I hex you with my laughter and tears,


    With every beat of life''s in my blood.


    If you stray, we''ll share the fears, I hex


    Until back into my arms you come near.


    I hex your children, and the children of your children


    with this love will cling to their children of their children,


    I hex you to death and never leave you alone


    And should you fall forever alseep, I hex and I hex myself


    to sleep by your side, and trick death until the end of time.


    ¡ªthe Spell of Hexe by Yeso Sternach and Zonnestra Duvencrune


    </blockquote>


    Mediah dashed through the camp with a frantic haste, his heart pounding against his chest. The news from the night before echoed in his mind, an unbelievable, unacceptable reality. He reached Ulencia''s tent in record time, barely processing his actions as he burst inside. There she was, methodically packing her things. "Tell me it''s not true!" he demanded, breathless.


    "You really don''t know how to knock?" she said without turning to face him.


    "Tell me it isn''t true!"


    "And what about manners, Mediah?" she replied, looking at him but her gaze seeming distant.


    Mediah spun on his heels and exited the tent, slapping the flap as he left. Moments later, he called from outside, "May I come in?"


    After a deliberate pause, Ulencia answered, "Ollo."


    "Please, tell me it''s not true!" he pleaded again.


    "Ollo to you too, Mediah," Ulencia responded calmly, continuing her task.


    "Stop this!" he begged as he began rummaging through her belongings.


    "What are you doing?"


    "You can''t leave!"


    "Mediah, please, stop this now!" she demanded sternly. "Stop! Para!"


    But he was relentless, his movements chaotic as he scattered her neatly packed items. It wasn''t until she firmly grasped his arms, halting his frenzied unpacking, that he ceased, panting heavily.


    "What''s gotten into you?" she asked, baffled by his reaction.


    "You''re really going to marry him? That... that big fat oaf?" Mediah blurted out with a clear sound of jealousy.


    "He has a name, Mediah," Ulencia chided, bending to pick up her clothes. "His name is Xendrix!"


    "How can you... why him?"


    "For starters, he asked me," she responded simply, resuming her folding with a calmness that contrasted sharply with Mediah''s turbulent emotions. "Nobody else asked!"


    "You don''t even know him well enough! You met him a few moons ago! How can you love him or even... care? This is absurd!" Mediah shouted with disbelief as he paced around the tent, desperate to capture Ulencia''s attention. But she continued her packing, unfazed by all his overaction.


    "Some relationships aren''t about love. Marriages are often just agreements, contracts, and this... this is a mutually beneficial arrangement for both Xendrix and me," Ulencia explained, her tone unusually detached. Mediah scarcely recognized this cold, pragmatic side of her.


    "Look at me, Ulencia! Ule!" he pleaded, reaching out to grab her arm, forcing her to face him. "I thought... I thought there was something between us, that we..."


    "We what, Mediah?" she challenged.


    "We... I mean, you and I... we''ve been..."


    "We''ve had sex, Mediah. We fucked! It was fun, and that''s all it was," she cut him off sharply.


    His grip slackened, disbelief and hurt clouding his face. "That''s all it was to you?"


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    "What else was it? You needed magic, and I felt alone. It was a transaction as simple as that."


    Ulencia brought her hands to her face as if suppressing a scream, then dropped them, locking her eyes with his. "Do you love me, Mediah?"


    "What?" he stammered, taken aback by her directness.


    "Do you love me?"


    "I... I mean..."


    "It''s a simple question. Do you love me?"


    Mediah found himself at a loss for words. He cared for her, certainly, and he liked her a great deal, but love? That was a profound word, one he felt too inexperienced to fully grasp. And he had thought the same of her¡ªtoo young to truly understand what love meant. The kind of love Yeso felt for Noctavia. It was a love that was built over centuries, if not more.


    Love, Mediah realized, wasn''t just the ripened fruit hanging from a tree, waiting to be picked. It was more akin to the seed planted deep in the soil, requiring nurturing, watering, and protection as it grew. Love was an ongoing journey, not just the prize at the end. He wanted the entirety of that journey, not merely the fruit it bore.


    "Not yet," he murmured, acknowledging his own feelings. "I would need time... I would need... it wouldn''t be fair to say¡­ you know that¡­"


    "I understand," Ulencia replied. "But I can''t wait indefinitely for something that might never happen. Xendrix offers me stability, a sense of belonging, and maybe royal titles I''m not yet ready to wear. Our potential child, a human with blue blood, could bridge worlds. As halflings, we''re both adrift... but at least this way, I have a choice." Her explanation was pragmatic as she zipped up her suitcase.


    "Will you find happiness? Will you be happy?" Mediah asked, "Truly happy?"


    "I''ll try," she said, her words simple yet laden with meaning. "You should try, too."


    As she hefted her luggage, preparing to leave the tent, Mediah reached out again, gently turning her towards him. In a moment of raw emotion, he drew her into a final kiss.


    A kiss as sweet as cherries and the scent of iodine from the shores Ulencia never visited, nor will she one day. But it was the taste of their kiss. It was the bittersweet kiss of goodbye, the kind that would haunt them both with the lingering question of "What if?" long after their paths had diverged.


    As their lips separated, he vowed, "I swear, one day, I''ll find a way for a few Magi¡ªfour, three or even two¡ªto overcome a thousand men. That''s my promise to you."


    "Leave that aside. Forget it. It¡¯s too late. I want you instead¡­ promise me you''ll never stop dreaming big. Dream until you may reach an Ortmarluft."


    The day eventually came when the camp, once a bustling hub of life and activity, dwindled to a ghost of its former self. It transformed into a space of transit, a metaphorical no-place marked by the comings and goings of faces soon forgotten. In this limbo, only Jaer and Mediah remained, witnessing the days and nights grow colder, an inexplicable chill hanging in the air.


    As time marched on, new expatriates drifted in, each seeking passage back to Ormgrund. Jaer and Mediah welcomed these temporary companions, embracing new friendships and learning about diverse cultures. Yet, these connections were fleeting, evaporating before they could solidify into lasting memories.


    Amidst the sea of forgettable faces, Jaer and Mediah found solace in their growing bond. They developed rituals, often sitting together on a bench, quietly observing the boats vanish into the horizon of the Meerio. It was a shared silence filled with thoughts and lingering nostalgia. "You still think about her, don''t you?" Jaer broke the silence one evening.


    "Sometimes," Mediah replied, his voice low as he took a sip of his beer.


    "I find myself thinking about him too," Jaer confessed.


    "The elf?"


    "Yes. I wonder what I''ll do when we''re no longer needed here. When there are no more ships to load, no more people to send off. Then what? Do I go to Pollux? Do I go to Faewood? Where is my place?"


    "I''ve been considering going to the Trial District," Mediah mused.


    "To learn?"


    "To teach."


    "I don''t know if you''re ready for that. You don¡¯t even have a beard yet."


    "I know... maybe it''s a foolish idea."


    "I didn''t say that. I''m just aware of why you''re still here. And as long as you hold onto that, as long as you look at the horizon hoping she comes back, any plan you make is just a draft in your mind."


    "I don''t know how to let go."


    "That makes two of us," Jaer agreed. "This is all Yeso''s doing, convincing us there''s an impossible love destined for each of us."


    "Fuck Yeso!"


    The tiefling chuckled lightly. "Don''t be too harsh on our Commander. What''s left for you if you can''t even dream? And if you dream, dream of the impossible to be possible!"


    Mediah, finishing the last drops of his beer, looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"


    "Maybe you can''t reach your end because you''re too caught up in what you''ve left behind. It seems clear that Ulencia doesn''t regret her choice. And for all we know, she is safe. She has a place and a future to build a family, and maybe she''s right, and their child will build a new bridge. Perhaps it''s time you saw it for yourself. Go to Keblurg!"


    "I don''t want to see it firsthand. That would just¡­"


    "Hurt, right? That would hurt like scheida!" Jaer said, placing a comforting arm around the young Magi''s shoulders. "Pain is inevitable. It always hurts, and it always will. But you need to face it, be punched by life right in the balls, then pull your shit together and become the Menschen you''re meant to be."


    "Seems like beer turns you wise!"


    "More like I''m trying to convince myself by convincing you." Jaer took a deep breath. "I should probably go to Pollux and see what matrimony life did to Finnegan with my own eyes. Maybe Yeso is right, and he has a broom stuck in his arse."


    "Is it working?"


    Jaer shrugged with a grin. "Haven''t had enough beer for it to take effect yet."


    "I''ll go get us another round," Mediah said, pausing before turning to Jaer. "Say, if you were up against a thousand men with just a few Magi on your side... how would you approach it?"


    "A thousand men?" Jaer chuckled. "Well, I guess the specifics don''t matter much, but I''d be dancing as if it''s my last grand performance. If I''m going down, I''m doing it in style. I''ll be fucking remembered!"


    "Dancing?" Mediah echoed, a spark of realization in his eyes as he held the empty bottles. "You know, if my hands weren''t occupied, I could easily summon more bottles."


    "Then just set them down on the table," suggested Jaer casually.


    "But in a battle, I can''t just drop my swords. I need time to conjure spells... I need my hands free! But if my swords could move on their own if they could dance¡ªI could¡­"


    Cutting him off, Jaer asked, "Mediah, you were going to get us more beer, weren''t you?"


    <blockquote>


    Before I was born, necromancy was deemed a forbidden art. This prohibition wasn''t formalized in any texts, manuscripts, or declarations; it was an unwritten rule universally acknowledged yet spoken of by none. Necromancy draws upon Nehsem, the essence of pure life force. The key distinction between syphoning Saatgut and syphoning Nehsem lies in their reproductive nature. Magic, by its nature, is cyclical; a water mage who harnesses water''s power returns that energy to the world, albeit transformed. Life force, on the other hand, is finite and irreplaceable. What remains unused is all that''s left. Using necromancy, which channels the essence of death, doesn''t replenish the world. Instead, it further depletes it. Throughout my life, I''ve witnessed necromancy''s usage multiple times. I would be dishonest if I claimed never to have felt its allure. The ease with which one can harness Nehsem is beguiling, yet the cost is invariably greater than one might anticipate. I lost my family for Nehsem, and if I am to be reunited with them, it will not be through the same means. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. IV by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0030] - Winterqueen

    The Great Exodus was a monumental event that rippled across the map and occurred mere Falls before my birth. Its magnitude was such that, even as I pen these words, the echoes of its impact are still reverberating, and the wounds of the Menschen are still trying to heal.


    I know it drives a shift in the tone of my narrative in this chapter, a deviation I embrace only because it is essential for understanding the world that shaped me.


    In recounting these events, my sources have been those whose paths crossed mine¡ªsome coloured by personal biases, others less so. In every tale, I''ve endeavoured to sift through the layers, separating fact from fiction, the embellished from the understated.


    This task is always challenging, especially when these stories are interwoven with my own life''s story. Such was the case with King Xendrix Kaspian. His tenure may have seemed fleeting, yet it was anything but insignificant in the grand narrative.


    After all, no villain''s role is ever truly minor.


    Little has been documented about the evolution of Xendrix''s alchemy, but there were certainly more than a handful of eyewitnesses to his inaugural use of it. It is widely accepted that the moment he resurrected a fragment of the Spider Spirit with a single drop of crimson blood marked the first instance of necromancy on the entire continent.


    To any mage, regardless of race, it is basic knowledge that life force¡ªNehsem¡ªshould not be harnessed for casting spells, much like one would not consume spoiled meat to nourish the body.


    Hence, it did not surprise me in the least to learn that this solitary act could have awakened a calamity that now threatens every corner of our world.


    I secured the authoritative records of these occurrences from the esteemed halls of the Capitol Palace, provided by a confidant whose trustworthiness is beyond question. For their safety, I shall keep their identity shrouded in secrecy within the annals of my writing, as the mere thought of any harm befalling them due to my actions is unbearable. Delving into these documents, I unearthed the origin of the dire threat we face today: the Lamias. Known in Humans as the Nightmares.


    In the aftermath of the resurrection of the forty-four spiders, a collective oversight occurred. It appeared no one considered the necessity of their capture, perhaps assuming they would instinctively return to their origin, the Spider Spirit. This assumption, unfortunately, proved to be a catastrophic error in judgment.


    Meanwhile, as my parents made their way to the verdant lands of Faewood, a vast armada of vessels¡ªfrom modest boats to big ships and sturdy cogs¡ªcommenced the task of transporting throngs of people to the bustling port of the Fisherman district of Ormgrund.


    Such journeys are rarely undertaken alone; the hidden corners of these seafaring vessels often harbour uninvited guests. Typically, these stowaways are harmless creatures like mice or small reptiles. However, in this particularly ominous instance, the unseen passengers were none other than the newly resurrected spiders.


    Unbeknownst to the travellers and crew, these spiders, imbued with an eerie otherworldliness, lurked in the shadows of the vessels. Their presence, silent and unseen, spelt the beginning of a series of events that would soon unfold into a tale of unforeseen consequences and chilling horror.


    According to the accounts, there was but a single survivor: Abio, known as Abio, the Nameless. At the tender age of five Falls, Abio witnessed a massacre that stripped him of everything familiar.


    I dedicated countless hours to studying the reports, their pages worn from my meticulous examination. In my quest for clarity, I extended an invitation to Abio to visit my office in Regulus, seeking a direct narrative from someone who lived through the ordeal. When he arrived, his eyes carried the weight of his memories, a silent testament to the horrors he had endured.


    Abio recounted his voyage on the Mary-All, a ship whose name dripped with a cruel irony that was not lost on him. This irony stemmed from his father''s decision to leave behind Abio''s mother and sister, their absence in their lineage of blue blood, marking them as unworthy in his father''s eyes. The Mary-All, thus, was not just a ship; it was a symbol of selective privilege, a vessel that catered to a certain pedigree, a floating microcosm of societal elitism.


    As Abio spoke, his voice fluctuated between bitterness and resignation, painting a vivid picture of a journey that was as much about navigating the turbulent waters of familial and societal divisions as it was about crossing the physical ocean.


    The voyage from Aspana to Ormgrund was charted to span the duration of a full moon cycle, a journey meant to culminate in the bustling Fisherman''s district. However, what was intended to be a serene passage through the Red Sea swiftly devolved into a nightmare, the Mary-All transforming into a floating slaughter within just a few days.


    Abio''s recounting of that dreadful night was vivid, etched into his memory with haunting clarity. He and his father had stood together at the ship''s edge, overlooking the vast expanse of the Red Sea. His father, with a navigator''s precision, traced their anticipated course: departing Aspana, skirting the shores of Ostesh, passing by the rugged island of Cragua, then through the mist-shrouded waters near Sogrestein and Keblurg before their final approach to Ormgrund.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Though the passage of time had clouded some details in Abio''s recollections, the records I possessed filled in the gaps. The convoy consisted of four other ships, each with a name as evocative as their journey: Odyssea, a vessel renowned for its resilience; Red Journey, painted in hues mirroring the sea they traversed; Wander Boy, the smallest yet swiftest among them; and Salty Seek, a ship with a penchant for navigating through the most treacherous of waters.


    Together, they embarked on a voyage that was destined to be remembered not for its scenic maritime views but for the unspeakable horrors that unfolded upon the waves.


    Abio vividly remembers the moment, perched on the ship''s railing, his small back pressed against the solid frame of his father. The man was of formidable build; his broad shoulders were a nest of strength, comfort and security. In Abio''s young eyes, there wasn''t a day when he didn''t feel completely sheltered in his father''s presence.


    That feeling of safety was shattered when he noticed a tiny black spider, no bigger than his pinky finger, innocently making its way across the deck. The sight of it initially drew a childlike giggle from Abio, amused by the spider''s delicate dance. Then, in an unsuspecting leap, the creature landed on his father''s shoulder, scuttling across to the vulnerable skin of his neck, and abruptly, its fangs pierced in.


    In that split second, their world turned from a scene of familial peace to one of unimaginable terror.


    Abio''s account of the ensuing chaos was harrowing. He teetered dangerously close to the edge, nearly toppling into the churning waters below. However, even marked by both pain and parental instinct, his father, amidst his own agony, managed to grab hold of Abio''s shirt, pulling him back from the precipice even as he himself collapsed onto the deck.


    The echoes of his father''s screams, a symphony of pain and horror, and the ghastly sound of flesh being torn by desperate fingers haunted Abio''s memories. His father was now writhing in anguish, his hands ferociously clawing at his own face as if trying to tear away the nightmare that had just begun.


    And when he turned to look at his son, three pairs of black, soulless eyes met Abio''.


    As the nightmare unfolded, bystanders, initially propelled by instinct to help, converged around the pair. However, the scene quickly degenerated into chaos. The man Abio had always looked up to, his father, now transformed into something unrecognizable, turned on a would-be helper with a ferocity that was chilling to witness.


    In a blur of motion, he hurled the bystander to the deck, his teeth gnashing violently into the man''s flesh. Blood sprayed in a macabre arc, painting a grotesque picture against the ship''s timbers.


    Each subsequent scream that pierced the night air was a haunting echo of the first, a chorus of terror that resonated through the ship. With every scream, the contagion spread, its victims morphing into assailants at an alarming rate.


    Abio watched in frozen horror as the numbers grew exponentially ¨C what started with one rapidly became four, then eight, a multiplying horde of once-men now gripped in a monstrous frenzy.


    The ship had swiftly turned into a floating tomb, its deck a stage for a gruesome spectacle with the floor stained in blue, beyond the comprehension of the young Abio and, indeed, beyond the darkest fears of all who witnessed it.


    In a desperate bid for escape, some passengers, overcome with terror, hurled themselves into the churning sea below. Yet, the sea offered no refuge; the same horrific fate that had befallen the ship now hunted them in the watery depths. Amidst this disarray, an unexpected salvation emerged for Abio¡ªthe merfolk.


    As I commit Abio''s account to paper, I feel the weight of its profound impact. Perhaps it was the harrowing sight of despair, screams and howling or the spectacle of numerous bodies desperately plunging into the sea diluted with blood, but amidst this relentless carnage, an extraordinary intervention occurred. Beings from the mysterious depths of the Red Sea surged onto the ship with a purpose.


    These merfolk, brandishing spears that towered above their own statuesque forms, presented a vivid juxtaposition to the ghastly tableau around them. Their hair, in vibrant hues of blues, greens, and pinks, shone like ethereal flames against the grim backdrop of the massacre.


    Abio, even in his youthful innocence, was captivated by their otherworldly beauty. Their bodies, sparsely covered, glowed ethereally under the moon''s silver gaze, scales shimmering like countless tiny jewels. The merfolk were not just saviours that day; they were a mesmerizing spectacle of grace and power amidst the horror.


    The merfolk moved with a grace and ferocity that seemed almost choreographed. Their spears, wielded with a precision that was both beautiful and terrifying, sliced through the air in swift, fluid arcs. Each rotation brought a quick end to the transformed passengers, their heads cleanly severed from their necks. Amidst this grim ballet, Abio witnessed a detail that seared itself into his memory: the black blood that oozed from the fallen creatures, a stark, nightmarish contrast to the typical blue.


    It was a sight so surreal and horrifying that it transcended the young boy''s understanding of reality.


    To Abio, the merfolk''s intervention seemed to stretch on indefinitely, each second an agonizing eternity. Yet, in reality, they eradicated the threat with astonishing speed, their movements a blur of efficiency and lethal grace.


    Abio couldn''t fathom why he was spared amidst this carnage, why he, a lone child amidst the mayhem, was left untouched by both the transformed passengers and the merfolk saviours.


    When the Mary-All finally reached its destination, a shadow of the vessel that had set sail from Aspana, Abio was discovered in an unlikely haven¡ªa barrel. He was found curled within, his body wracked by hunger and dehydration, a lone sentinel of a journey that had spiralled into the depths of horror.


    He was the sole witness to a voyage that had transformed from a hopeful journey into a nightmare of unprecedented proportions. Abio was the first witness to ever survive a Nightmare ambush. And not many could brag of the same.


    ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer

 01 [CH. 0031] - Winterqueen

    <blockquote>


    The Central Council of Magi at Whitestone Palace is a pivotal institution in our Great Continent history. Of all the judges who presided there, Magi Regala Messe stands out. Renowned not for fairness or conventional methods, Regala is famous for his unwavering authority and ability to challenge anyone, regardless of their status or power. This trait, his readiness to confront even the most powerful rulers, makes him a formidable presence in the courtroom. It was due to this unyielding nature that he maintained his position from Fall to Summer, serving as a stark reminder that in his court, power was always to be questioned and scrutinized. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. V by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>


    Veilla found herself in an unfamiliar position within the heart of the court. Where she typically would have been nestled upon her throne, surrounded by her council and a jury of her peers. But today was markedly different. Today, she was the one on trial.


    Veilla was still in her nightgown when she was rudely awakened as White Cloaked figures swarmed her quarters. Forty-four mages stood arrayed against her. With the mere flick of her wrist, she could have vanquished each of them effortlessly. Yet, the politics of a wise woman restrained her hand. It was one thing to wield might; it was another to slaughter those sworn to serve her.


    As she stood encircled, a sense of betrayal gnawed at her. No accusations were hurled, and no reasons were given for this silent mutiny under the very roof of her palace. What unspeakable crime had she purportedly committed that could justify such a stark uprising from her own people?


    So there she was¡ªVeilla Mageschstea, the Herbstdame, the Fallqueen as per humans, the Spiderqueen as per her enemies¡ªseated not on her throne but in a simple, unadorned chair placed conspicuously in the centre of a courtroom. Veilla contemplated her predicament.


    She wondered if this turn of events was retribution for how she had dealt with Yeso, for the trust she had shattered, albeit in the name of a ''greater good.'' The irony of her current situation was not lost on her.


    In the hushed auditorium, a soldier manoeuvred what looked like a large crate towards the centre of the room. It appeared to be a cage taller than him, obscured beneath a cloth, its wheels squeaking eerily, resonating through the silence. And an eerie growl could be heard beneath the fabric.


    Veilla rubbed her swollen belly, and the charges against her remained a mystery, but the sight of many Magi donning white cloaks instead of their traditional black robes sent a ripple of anxiety through her. Among the sea of faces, she caught a glimpse of her daughter, Fiona, positioned next to the Judge, who was similarly garbed in a white cloak and mask. Apparel that, in her eyes, was ridiculous as she knew perfectly well who it was, its name and house. But the court loved drama.


    Yet, the symbolism of the attire was not lost on Veilla; she understood all too well the undercurrents of a coup d''¨¦tat. Regardless, as she scanned the room for any semblance of support, she found herself woefully isolated, with only Fiorna in the witness row¡ªlikely a strategic move by her twin sister to keep her away from any position of influence. The game was set, and the pieces strategically aligned against her. What was Fiona''s plan?


    The moment the soldier unveiled the contents of the cage, the room seemed to draw a collective breath. Inside was a woman, or what was left, but not as anyone had known before. She bore six eyes, each filled with a wild, ravenous hunger. She snapped and bit at the bars, her fingers clawing in a desperate attempt to reach beyond her confines.


    Veilla, amidst her growing unease, realized they were using her as a goatscape. The why and the endgame, she was unsure.


    The stillness of the auditorium was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, Veilla''s eyes flickered towards the source, recognizing the familiar figure of the Elven King, Finnegan.


    His entrance carried a semblance of ease; his smile, though brief, seemed to lighten the room''s oppressive atmosphere. But as he neared Veilla, his expression shifted to one of grave seriousness.


    Finnegan reached her side and took her hands in his, his grip firm yet reassuring. "Whatever you are thinking it, forget it, do not fight them," he whispered, a tone of earnest warning in his voice.


    Confusion and fear intermingled in Veilla''s heart. "What is going on, Finnegan!" she still demanded.


    He leaned closer, his words barely above a murmur, yet they carried the weight of a dire prophecy. "Don''t fight it, or she''ll kill you! You and the child. Now, I''m not a monster like my wife; I won¡¯t let her, and I¡¯ll protect them. But whatever you do or say, just say you¡¯re guilty, and it will be okay. Trust me."


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Veilla''s mind raced, a protest forming on her lips, but before she could articulate her confusion, Finnegan had already moved away, taking a seat next to Fiorna. She was left alone with his cryptic advice, her heart pounding against the growing life within her.


    Veilla''s gaze, roving anxiously across the room, finally settled on two distinct figures, anomalies amidst the sea of white-cloaked Magi. They were garbed in traditional black robes, yet their presence seemed conspicuously out of sync with the rest.


    The first was a man distinguished by a flowing black mane, his features marked by an air of seasoned wisdom. Beside him sat a younger man, his dark red hair a stark contrast to his companion''s, his face adorned with a youthful beard.


    Though they sat in accordance with Magi tradition, their demeanour suggested they were not entirely aligned with the prevailing sentiment in the room. Veilla''s eyes narrowed as she tried to place them. The younger was an enigma, but the older... he was vaguely familiar, a face she had seen in Yeso''s entourage. His name danced on the edge of her memory¡ªRedmond, Rednard... something beginning with ''Red.''


    The murmurs in the room subsided as a collective movement rippled through the assembly, every individual rising to their feet in a synchronized gesture of deference. At the centre of this orchestrated respect stood the Masked Judge with practised grace. They unfurled a scroll for the intent drama.


    Clearing their throat, the Judge''s voice, though muffled slightly by the mask, resonated with an authoritative timbre that filled the room: "Before we begin, let me remind everyone present that this court is a place of respect and decorum. All parties are expected to conduct themselves in a manner befitting this esteemed institution. Interruptions or disturbances will not be tolerated."


    The room fell into hushed suspense as the Masked Judge continued, "We are here to hear the case of Veilla Mageschstea, Herbstdame, Master of the Spider Spirit, versus the Realm. The charges brought forth are the slaughter of one hundred and two Menschen aboard their passage to Ormburg, distributed across five different vessels. Namely, The Mary-All, The Odyssey, Red Journey, Wander Boy, and Salty Seek." There was a brief pause as the Judge adjusted the scroll in his hands, the paper rustling softly in the tense silence.


    Though obscured by the mask, the Judge''s eyes seemed to bore into Veilla as they continued. "You are also accused of practising vile magic, conjuring a new abomination with the sole intent of instilling terror to solidify your reign. These charges have been formally brought against you. Do you understand the charges as they have been read to you?"


    Veilla''s gaze swept across the room, a tumultuous storm of defiance and desperation brewing within her. Every fibre of her being yearned to shout her innocence, to deny the heinous charges laid before her. But as her eyes landed on Fiorna, her beloved Spring, her resolve wavered. At that moment, their eyes met, an unspoken conversation passing between them, laden with sorrow, fear, and an aching love.


    ¡°I do.¡±


    "In the matter of the case of Veilla Mageschstea versus the Realm, how do you plead?"


    With a heavy heart and a sense of resigned acceptance, Fiorna gave a subtle nod. She had a plan. The choice had been made, not for herself, but for her unborn child, for the fragment of her heart that sat watching the proceedings with wide, fearful eyes.


    "I plead guilty," she declared, her voice betraying none of the turmoil that raged within her. She stood with the dignity and poise befitting a Dame, even in the face of her own unmaking.


    The Judge, poised to deliver the final verdict, began, "Very well, as hereby I sentence you to death¡ª" The words were about to seal her fate, a fate she accepted with a silent plea that it would shield her daughter from the shadows that now loomed over her own life.


    Fiona''s voice cut through the tension-laden air, halting the Judge''s sentence mid-breath. "I refute," she declared, her words ringing with an authority that reverberated through the courtroom. Every eye turned to her, surprised by the interruption yet captivated by the conviction in her young, almost childish, voice.


    "I will take upon my responsibility the realm and crown from my mother," Fiona continued, standing up to embody the full measure of her declaration. "And let her have the bastard child in the sanctum of her quarters. After all, we cannot forget all the good things my mother''s reign has brought to the Map."


    Veilla, initially stunned by her daughter''s bold intervention, felt a chilling revelation wash over her. As she gazed at Fiona, she saw no longer her beloved child but, for the first time, a formidable foe¡ªher own flesh and blood.


    It was as if the seasons of their lives were turning before her eyes¡ªthe Fall of her own reign was crumbling, making way for a harsh Winter that loomed threateningly. This Winter, cold and unforgiving, was poised to cast its long shadow over Fiorna, her Spring, potentially stifling the growth and promise that her daughter embodied.


    Veilla, faced with this daunting realization, felt a protectiveness stir within her, a resolve to shield her children from the chilling grasp of the circumstances that were rapidly unfolding around them.


    But there was nothing she could do. She had lost. Fiona has marked her as if she had already departed from the realm of the living like the creature placed next to her.


    ¡°I object!¡± The declaration rang out, cutting through the tense atmosphere of the courtroom.


    All eyes swiftly turned towards Fiorna, who, until that moment, had been seated silently beside Finnegan. Her voice, now breaking the silence, carried a bold assertion that rippled through the crowd. ¡°The Herbstdame has two daughters! Twins, in fact. The succession is as rightfully yours as it is mine!¡±


    Fiona, upon hearing these words, turned to face her sister with a smirk sharp as frosted glass. ¡°Is that so?¡±

 01 [CH. 0032] - Winterqueen

    <blockquote>


    Ormsaat


    Noun


    Translation: Ley Line Node


    Definition: In the Menschen language, "Ormsaat" refers to the intricate network of magical lines that crisscross the world, connecting nodes of power spread across land, sea, and sky. These ley lines are the conduits of magical energy, maintaining the balance and harmony of the natural world. The control and manipulation of Ormsaat is a rare ability, held by only a few creatures. For the past millennia, this profound mastery has been the hallmark of the Mageschstea dynasty, a lineage renowned for their deep understanding and manipulation of these magical currents.


    </blockquote>


    Fiona''s reaction was one of unbridled amusement. She laughed heartily, her hand coming up to cover her smile, her body shaking as she held her belly. Her laughter bordered on the hysterical, each chuckle laced with disbelief. "Oh, dear sister, you''ve always had the best sense of humour. That is so funny," she managed to say, her words interspersed with fits of laughter, seemingly unable to contain herself.


    Turning away from the crowd to regain her composure, Fiona took a moment before facing them again, wiping a tear from her eye with a delicate swipe of her finger. She then addressed Fiorna with a feigned seriousness, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Could you please repeat that, Fiorna? I must have misunderstood. Are you actually challenging me?"


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t need to challenge you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    "I don''t need to defy you; it''s a simple truth," Fiorna responded firmly. "We were both born and trained to rule, side by side. Together! But Fiona, you lack the gift to sustain the people. You know that!"


    Fiona''s smirk returned, now edged with condescension. "Oh, is that so? And why can''t the people farm, hunt, or fish for their own survival? Why should I concern myself with such matters? Why is it all on me? On my gift?"


    Fiorna walked slowly to the centre of the auditorium and placed a hand over her mother¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Because you are claiming to be the new Dame, it¡¯s on the vows proclaimed by our name. It is our responsibility!¡±


    She walked closer to her sister without disengaging her gaze, "Fiona, your power, your gift is winter, a realm where life is extinguished, leaving nothing behind."


    She turned to face the assembly, her expression grave. "You have all forgotten the reason our ancestors were chosen for the throne. Our bloodline nurtures the flows of land, sea, and sky¡ªOrmsaat. We are responsible for the balance, for the prosperity. What can Winter alone offer you besides violence, isolation, and bare land?"


    Fiorna paced around so everyone could see her, and she could see each one in their eyes. "None of you understand what is to come, but I do. I see! And there is nothing that can save us. Unless we act by what is right."


    As she approached the cage of the Lamia, her finger extended in a commanding gesture. And with dire urgency, Fiorna addressed the gathered assembly. ¡°Watch, this creature before us is but a harbinger of a much larger threat. They are multiplying rapidly, both in number and might! And there will be only one creature¡ªEura¡ªnot yet born, capable of confronting these creatures without succumbing to their corruption, to their black blood. If we even think of releasing this captive, do not be fooled by appearances. It will show us no mercy. It will feast on us, transforming us into its own twisted likeness with whatever remains of our flesh and bone.¡±


    Her gaze then shifted, hard and unyielding, as she spun to face Fiona. Her finger, now accusatory, pointed squarely at her sister. "You, Fiona! You lack the means to subdue them, just like me. Both of us, we aren¡¯t enough. You cannot bend their will to ally with you. Even before you ascend to the throne, your defeat is already certain.¡±


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Fiorna''s finger, once accusatory, now dropped to her side, and with a sag in her shoulders, she uttered a sombre prophecy.


    ¡°Your rule will stretch across forty-four cold winters, and you shall become a Dame. A queen whose very name remains unknown to all creatures of Mir-Grande-Carta and never heard in the Red Sea. Your very identity will fade into obscurity, known only as the Winterqueen by few. Your given name, Fiona Mageschstea, will go unspoken, and your regal title will be unacknowledged. You will become synonymous with Winter itself.¡±


    She made a short pause and proceeded with an almost cracked voice as if she were dictating her own sentence. ¡°You¡¯ll be hated by all creatures of blue, green, stone, and even red blood. You will be the villain as the one who stole the sun and every moon in the sky. Your dominion will be engulfed in unrelenting darkness for twenty-two long winters. And then, amidst all this horrible shadow, she will emerge¡ªEura¡ªthe sun that burns over land, sea, and sky. The true Dame will be born, and regardless of your efforts to break her through torture, isolation, starvation, and despair, she will rise to dethrone you!¡±


    As tears started to cascade down her cheeks, she lamented with a voice tinged with sorrow. "We could have faced this together, Fiona, you and I. I would have helped you. I would have stayed by your side, lending you all my strength. I never wished for the crown; otherwise, I would have claimed it already. Together, we could have readied ourselves for her arrival. To prepare her, to soothe her pain. But you are so unaware of the fury and wrath you seeded in her. I would beg you to show her love, yet I question whether you''re even capable of such emotion. And it is such a shame because I do love you. You are part of me. The funny thing about twins is our fates will converge even in death, but here lies the pivotal difference..." Fiorna''s gaze locked intensely with Fiona''s, mirroring her image as if in a reflective glass. "... I am ready!¡±


    Everything happened too fast.


    Fiorna''s words were still hanging between her lips, echoing in the air when Fiona, with a terrifying, eerie calmness, conjured a spear of ice in her hand. With a flick of her wrist that nobody expected, a chillingly precise motion, she hurled the spear towards her twin.


    The pike, a crystalline embodiment of Fiona''s chilling wrath, struck, severing Fiorna''s head from her body. The head tumbled gracefully to the ground, rolling for the audience to see and leaving a macabre trail of blue blood that marred the pristine white floor.


    A collective gasp rose from the audience, but Veilla found herself frozen, robbed of breath, her heart shattering into a million pieces. There, at her feet, lay her Spring, her little girl, extinguished by the hand of her own sister in a misguided attempt to defend her perceived truth.


    Veilla''s mind raced, a whirlwind of grief. She saw in Fiona''s actions a reflection of her own past choices. In that devastating moment, Veilla understood a harrowing truth: she hadn''t raised a monster; instead, a monster had raised another. And now, what about the baby?


    Amidst the tumult that erupted following the grim spectacle, the courtroom was plunged into chaos. The stark reality of Fiorna''s murder, the impending judgment against Veilla, and the continued frenzy of the caged nightmare, rabidly gnawing at the bars, captured everyone''s attention. In this whirlwind of shock and horror, a subtle, almost divine occurrence went unnoticed.


    From Fiorna''s parted lips, as her head lay motionless on the blood-stained floor, emerged a glowing butterfly. It gleamed with a gentle, otherworldly light, fluttering silently amidst the chaos. Unseen by the grieving, the enraged, and the shocked onlookers, it navigated through the air, moving towards the nearest window. It¡¯s destiny: The Fischerman District.


    <blockquote>


    In my lectures, a question that frequently arises from my students is about the number of Spirits in existence. My answer remains consistently the same: I simply don''t know. It''s beyond my capacity to prove whatsoever. The nature of Spirits, especially those that align themselves with a Master, is inherently elusive. Their allegiance is a mystery to me¡ªdo they align with the physical body, the intellect, the emotions of the heart, maybe the seed of magic or something else entirely like the essence of a being or the Saatgut? Personally, I don''t hold a religious view or believe in a supreme deity. Yet, I find the beliefs of the Green Mother''s followers intriguing. They hold that all creatures are reborn into the land, sea, and sky in new forms, like butterflies emerging from a spiritual cocoon, to settle unknown debts. The specifics of these debts remain unclear to me. ¡ª¡ªBetween Lore and Legacy: The Mystifying Histories of the Menschen Vol. V by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0033] - Winterqueen

    <blockquote>


    Noitelven


    Noun


    Translation: Night Elf


    Definition: The Noitelven, also known as the Star Elf, are a legendary race of elves from the lore of Mir-Grande-Carta, believed to have vanished many eons ago. While shrouded in the mists of time, these beings are known to share the distinctive blue blood of Menschen, signifying probably to be ancestores of the lineage. The Noitelven are characterized by their elegant beauty and the classic elven traits of slender, graceful forms and pointed ears. Their most striking features are their skin tones, ranging from dark grey/blue to deep blue, and their dark blue hair. Legends often depict Noitelven with stars embedded in their skin, a testament to their deep connection with the night sky or the very essence of the universe.


    </blockquote>


    Veilla found herself as a jailbird within the confines of her very own private chambers. The chilling sensation gnawed at her without rest. It crept along her spine as she sensed Fiona''s power extending its winter tendrils.


    The air felt unnaturally cold. Veilla was mourning for her lost Spring, yet her thoughts relentlessly circled back to her unborn baby.


    She clung to the belief that Fiona, despite her ruthlessness, wouldn''t dare harm a pregnant woman, at least not under the scrutinizing gaze of the public. Yet, the audacious murder of Fiorna stood as proof of Fiona''s disregard for political decorum. But there was no denying that Fiona had already won.


    Restlessly, Veilla moved around the room in circles, her teeth gnawing anxiously at her hand, the other protectively cradling her swollen belly. She toyed with the desperate idea of inducing labour despite the knowledge that her baby was but seven moons along¡ªa precarious threshold.


    To compound her despair, she grappled with the profound loss of her sole confidant, her best friend, who had been her anchor in stormier times. But Yeso had turned his back on her, in his right.


    So she finally screamed. In the echoing silence of her room, her voice rang out in desperation. "You said you would protect me!" But her plea met no response, save for a chilling presence that emerged from the darkness. An enormous spider, a creature of nightmarish proportions, began to crawl forth from the obscurity.


    "You said you would protect me!" she repeated, her voice trembling with pain.


    "You said you would protect me," the Spider echoed back, its voice a sinister hiss. It emerged slowly from the shadows, an immense figure looming ominously overhead. Its body was a grotesque masterpiece, resembling a vast, dark tapestry woven with nightmare. The glossy sheen of its carapace reflected the dim light, giving the illusion of a sinister, pulsating heart of darkness.


    "You can''t even talk!" she protested and then demanded, "Talk! Scheida! Fucking talk to me!"


    "I talk, you don''t comprehend. You betrayed me. You abused me. You don''t care about me!" the Spider retorted, its words emerging in an ominous sibilance between its fangs.


    "How? You are my Spirit, and I am your Master!"


    As the Spider advanced, a stark revelation became apparent: it possessed only seven legs, one grotesquely absent, leaving an unsettling imbalance in its monstrous form.


    This sight struck Veilla like a dagger to the heart. With a pang of guilt, she realized that she had commanded her Spirit to spy on Yeso. In her thirst for power, she had not considered the cost. Her Spirit, now manifest in this horrific form, had suffered greatly from her whims. One-hundred-two spiders were the eighth leg of her Spirit.


    "I''m sorry... I didn''t mean..." she stammered, words failing her. "But you punished him. We punished him."


    "Because you rather sacrifice me... because you don''t even trust the sun. How can you trust the shadows?" the Spider questioned.


    "I am so sorry if only I could undo what has been done... but that is beyond my reach, and now I find myself utterly... alone," Veilla lamented, her voice breaking as tears began to stream down her face.


    She sank onto the edge of her bed, "I have no one left, and I''m losing everything, everyone. If only I could turn back time, I would..."


    "But you cannot reverse time, yet you can still move forward," the Spirit interjected.


    Veilla hastily wiped away her tears and drew a deep, steadying breath, her hand instinctively cradling her belly. "How can I move forward when I am not even sure I will survive this night?" she questioned.


    "You won''t," came the Spider''s chilling reply, its words cutting through the air like a blade of ice.


    The starkness of this declaration sent a shiver through Veilla, colder than the deepest winter chill. "But what of my child? Will my baby survive?"


    "You will face death, and in doing so, you will be reborn," the Spirit proclaimed cryptically.


    Veilla''s brow furrowed in confusion. "Reborn? How? What are you saying..."


    "You will finally become the Hexe you have always envied. In this shift, you will find freedom and strength. You will be the one to bring back the sun," the Spirit continued, "And yet, you will always doom yourself to be alone."


    "I don''t understand..." Veilla murmured.


    "You are no longer my master, for my true master is yet to be born," the Spirit declared, its words echoing with finality, "Tonight. Tonight, I forgive you as the villain of my story, and tonight, I welcome back my Master."


    Veilla''s mind raced, trying to grasp the full meaning of the Spirit''s words. Before she could articulate her swirling thoughts, a knock at the door reverberated.


    The door slammed open before Veilla could even part her lips to ask who it was. Into the dimly lit room stepped two figures in white cloaks: a man with a black mane she saw at the trial and a tall, enigmatic form cloaked in silken fabrics of myriad colours. The Spirit of the Spider, in the meantime, retreated into the comforting embrace of the shadows, leaving Veilla to face her fate alone.


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    The tall figure approached her, moving with the cautious grace of one who might startle a skittish cat. As he slowly unravelled the cloth obscuring his face, a familiar visage emerged.


    "Finnegan?"


    The Elven King turned his gaze briefly to the white-cloaked figures, his command resonating through the room, "Seal the door!" Then, lowering himself before Veilla with gentleness, he whispered, "Fiona, she''s... cleansing the house, so to speak."


    "Cleansing? As in... killing?"


    "Yes, well, there aren''t any better words to put it. All who were from your entourage and likely your council will be next," Finnegan confessed, his eyes briefly darting away, burdened with a grim truth.


    "Veilla, our time is fading away. You must choose - the child or... none of you."


    "But my baby, it''s only been seven moons," Veilla''s voice trembled, "Too soon, too fragile."


    "Yet, it is a choice more promising than the chill embrace of death," Finnegan declared, his voice tinged with an ominous finality. "Please, do not force me to partake in the end of one who carries new life within her. I can''t..."


    Veilla, her eyes lifting to the white-clad figures, watched as they drew back their hoods, revealing themselves not as mere elves but as priestesses. They bore necklaces crafted in the likeness of a leaf''s veins, a sacred symbol denoting their revered status as servants of the Green Mother.


    "What now?" Veilla asked, wrapped in a veil of dread.


    "We shall administer you poison," Finnegan elucidated with deliberate slowness, "Make an incision, remove the child, and then this Magi, Redfred, will take the infant to..."


    "Yeso!" Veilla interrupted fervently, "To Yeso. Take my child to Yeso."


    "But Veilla, I could convey the babe to Ostesh..."


    "No. Take my child to Yeso. I don''t trust anyone else."


    ¡°Ostesh is safer!¡±


    ¡°Take my child to Yeso!¡±


    Finnegan agreed, observing Redfred nod in understanding with this sudden plan shift. "Very well," he signalled to a priestess, then gracefully receded a step as if surrendering to the tides of their grim resolve.


    The woman before Veilla was mesmerising, her skin rivalling the bright paleness of the moon, her eyes a deep, earthy green. With a grace that seemed to flow like water, she approached, placing one hand gently on Veilla''s knee, the other tenderly sweeping a strand of raven hair behind her ear with a smile that was a sad goodbye.


    Leaning forward, she brought her lips to Veilla''s. Her tongue delicately parted the Dame''s mouth, exploring with a bittersweet tenderness. A kiss that unearthed and left its taste on the tongue.


    A deadly kiss.


    The Priestesses of the Green Mother were renowned not only for their arresting beauty but for the lethal secret they bore - a venomous balm they used which would be stuck on their very skin. This kiss was, in its essence, an act of mercy.


    Veilla, under the full-bodied spell of the poison, found her consciousness ebbing swiftly away. The world seemed to dissolve into a dreamlike haze, her eyelids growing impossibly heavy as though laden with the weight of a thousand unseen whispers. She fell back onto the pillows, slipping into a deep, unyielding sleep from which she would never be awoken.


    Meanwhile, the priestesses, gently, with hands that spoke of both care and indefatigable purpose, began to undress the Fallqueen. They revealed her skin only as much as was necessary, baring her belly to the cool air of the chamber, an offering to the ancient ritual they were bound to uphold to the Green Mother.


    One of the priestesses, her face an inscrutable mask of duty, drew forth a dagger of exquisite craftsmanship from her sleeve. The blade, fine and sharp, gleamed ominously under the flickering candlelight. With a precision born of Falls of practice, she placed the dagger just above Veilla''s pubic hairline. Then, with a steady hand, she made a delicate, U-shaped incision.


    The blade, unerring in its path, parted skin, sliced through layers of fat, and delved into the underlying muscle, its journey halting only upon reaching the sacred sanctuary of the uterus.


    The second priestess leaned even closer. The room was silent. Finnegan averted his gaze, finding a little solace in the distant corners of their shadows dancing along the walls. All the while, a faint, rhythmic pulsing, as delicate and persistent as the beating of a butterfly''s wings, filled the air, emanating from Veilla''s lips.


    With a touch that bridged the creatures and the divine, the priestess reached forth. The sound of flesh ripping under her bare hand resonated through the silence, a stark, visceral reminder of the raw power of life and birth. Time seemed to stretch and bend around this singular act, drawing out the seconds into infinity. Then, as she withdrew her hand, now marked with the evidence of their most sacred ritual, blue blood staining her hands, her expression was one of awe with solemn gravity.


    "It''s a girl," she whispered.


    However, the wonders of that moment did not cease with the birth alone. As the newborn was poised to take her inaugural breath, a marvel unfolded unseen by the gathered witnesses.


    From between Veilla''s gently parted lips, a glowing butterfly seen only by spirits, bathed in an ethereal brilliance, emerged silently. With a grace that defied perception, it took flight, weaving through the air unnoticed. In a seamless, almost mystical dance, it swept into the mouth of the silent infant with the timing of her first exhalation, merging with the new life in a moment of inexplicable magic. The one unaware of elves but taught to Menschen alike.


    As the priestess tenderly patted the newborn''s back, a soft gesture meant to coax forth a cry, the infant remained silent. Yet, her eyes of vivid blue fluttered gently, and her chest rose and fell with each tiny breath.


    Finnegan, turning his gaze away from the stark reality of Veilla''s condition, focused instead on the infant. A look of wonder tinged with confusion crossed his features. "It''s... she is an elf?" he queried, almost in shock.


    "She is a Noitelven, Your Grace," the priestess explained, carefully wrapping the baby in a soft cloth, all the while maintaining the infant''s serene quietude.


    Finnegan''s expression deepened with intrigue. "How? Star elves have not been seen in this realm for aeons."


    Observing the baby, the priestess spoke with a tone of reverence. "She is a miracle, Your Grace. She doesn''t even cry."


    Pondering the significance of this extraordinary event, Finnegan finally asked, "Well... what should we name her?"


    Redfred, perhaps unwittingly, murmured from his hidden corner, "Zora is a pretty name."


    Finnegan, turning towards him, raised an eyebrow. "Zora?"


    Redfred, seemingly unsure of his own interjection, elaborated, "I think it means the dawn. It''s a nice Menschen name." His words trailed off, betraying his indifference to the naming; after all, his true mission lay elsewhere - a quest to locate Yeso, whose whereabouts he had no idea or to simply take the baby to his family at Ostesh.


    After a moment''s consideration, Finnegan nodded in agreement. "Zora does sound fitting," he conceded, gently cradling the baby in his arms. A tinge of regret coloured his voice as he added, "It''s such a shame I can''t take her with me."


    The priestess, sensing his latent desire for his own offspring, offered a comforting thought. "Perhaps the child destined for you to love will be brought to your palace," she suggested softly, ¡°Maybe the dawn will bring you the sun.¡±


    "Perhaps," Finnegan mused, his gaze lingering on the infant. "Or perhaps I shall meet her again."


    Carefully, he transferred the baby into Redfred''s arms. "Now it''s your turn, Magi. Take her to Yeso!"


    <blockquote>


    There are certain chapters of my childhood I''m hesitant to share, as they feel too intimate for public scrutiny. Yet, it''s important to acknowledge that her story is inextricably linked with mine. The trials and tribulations, the grief, and the sense of abandonment were, in retrospect, necessary pathways leading me to her - the one person I''ve loved profoundly and unconditionally. She had the unique ability to expand my perceptions beyond the usual senses, and crucially, she grounded me when my own powers threatened to overwhelm. She was my steadfast anchor¡ªalways.


    Zora''s journey didn''t lead her to my father or Faewood as originally intended. She found her home in Ostesh, within the Dagurstea Household, raised by Redfred''s wife and daughter. I could say much about her upbringing and education, but I prefer not to linger on this aspect of my past. The essential truth is that our paths were destined to cross, regardless of what, when or how. This was not just our shared story, it was the hex I inherited from my parents and cursed her the same. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0034] - Winterqueen

    <blockquote>


    Ofius


    Noun


    Translation: Ofius (The Serpent bearer)


    Definition: The "Ofius" was introduced by Magi Mediah in the early Winter. It is a brand given to mages upon the successful completion of their Trial of Elements within the Menschen culture. Upon being granted their "Mantonacht," or Black Robe, mages receive this brand on their forehead. The golden infinity symbol, the Ofius, represents unyielding loyalty to the Magi''s duties and their eternal commitment to their path. If a Magi ever decides to forsake their role, the Ofius is removed, leaving behind a scar as a perpetual reminder of their indelible bond to the Magi order and the powers they once served.


    </blockquote>


    Redfred completed the final preparations to safely dispatch the Noitelven baby aboard the first vessel departing from Ormgrund. As he returned to his quarters, mentally steeling himself for the imminent political upheaval or perhaps even war, he was met with a scene of utter disarray. The room appeared as though ravaged by a hurricane.


    "What in the world...?" he barely managed to articulate, his eyes widening at the sight of the young Magi, Muru, darting frantically from one corner to another, hastily packing his belongings.


    "I''m leaving! And I''m leaving now!" Muru declared, almost shouting.


    "Muru, please, I implore you, could you pause for a moment!" Redfred''s plea seemed to no avail with this maelstrom of activity that had consumed the room.


    Muru was a whirlwind of motion, his actions a chaotic fusion of fear and anger as he shoved his meagre possessions into a makeshift bag.


    "Muru, please, just listen," Redfred insisted, his voice trying to be tranquil and soothing, attempting to pierce the young Magi''s frenzied state. "If you would just take a moment to calm down, we could devise a plan and..."


    Redfred''s words seemed to evaporate into the charged air, utterly futile. Muru had burst into their shared quarters straight from the courtroom, carrying with him a whirl of feelings that had taken root deep in his core. "Please, son, just listen to me..."


    In a flash of unbridled anger, Muru spun around to face the older Magi. "I am not your son, and you are certainly not my father! A real father would take action, not just stand by passively! This whole situation is... it''s... absolute madness! Now, I finally see why Yeso chose to abandon this scheida place! Plans are useless now!"


    Muru spat out, each word seething with outrage. "You were witness to this circus that unfolded in there. And I refuse to linger and watch as that... that... that Vacahure ascends to power. It''s a mockery! I reject it all! I will not remain here and be part of this scheida! If death is my fate, then let it embrace me in my own fucking home!"


    "Die at home?" Redfred, usually a bastion of calm, felt a rare surge of irritation. His patience was worn thin. "Magi do not surrender to fate in the safety of their homes, Muru! We stand and face our trials, wherever they may find us!"


    Muru abruptly ceased his frantic movements, turning to face Redfred with eyes that were deep pools of dread. "Maybe the path of a Black Robe, of a Magi, isn''t my true calling," he declared as he methodically unfastened each button of his robe.


    "This place... it''s no longer a Palace; it''s become a damned graveyard. And that creature in the cage? It''s like nobody gives a fuck! Did they slay it? Are they keeping it for some fucking purpose? Perhaps she plans to amass an army using it! I don''t want any part of it. I refuse to stay and be a spectator to this madness!"


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Finally, with a surge of finality, Muru ripped off his robe and flung it to the ground. His frustration and resignation culminated in a single, defiant act. He kicked the discarded attire, sending it skittering across the floor.


    Exhaustion and disillusionment suddenly washed over him; Muru paused, leaning his back against the wall. Slowly, he slid down until he was seated on the floor, his voice breaking in the precipice of tears.


    "Maybe what I truly desire is to live an ordinary life, to feel safe and secure. To be like everyone else, the common folk. To abandon this nomadic lifestyle, always chasing some idealistic dream that turns out to be nothing but an illusion. A lie! It''s all been in vain. Yeso is a dreamer, and we followed like clowns."


    "Muru, consider the implications of your decision."


    However, Muru cut him off with a swift, decisive gesture. "I''m done, Redfred. Completely done with this whole shithole. My belief in our cause and our way of life is all shattered! It''s gone!"


    He spoke with steadfast perseverance, "If Yeso could walk away from all this, why can''t I? I''m not extraordinary. I''m just a regular person. I long for a normal life¡ªa home, a partner, perhaps a child. I yearn for nights filled with peace, not terror. I''m tired of dealing with humans, tired of feeling outcast because of my blue blood. I just want to return to my roots, to a place where I belong!"


    "So, this is your decision? You''re leaving us? Abandoning your friends and comrades?" Redfred uttered in disbelief.


    Muru''s response was just a bitter resignation. "If Mediah were here, in the midst of this madness, he''d have been the first to bolt without a backward glance! He''s as much a coward as I am, perhaps even more so!" His words, though harsh, reflected a deep-seated disillusionment not just with his circumstances but with the very ideals and bonds he had once held dear. And he was wrong. He didn¡¯t know Mediah.


    Redfred observed Muru, his heart sinking as he watched him continue to pack. "Where will you go now?"


    "To the Fisherman District," Muru answered with an unexpected calmness, "That''s my hometown. I really miss my mother. I can''t even recall the last time I saw her."


    "Will you take up your father''s trade then?"


    "It''s an honest living," Muru replied, securing his bag, "I''ll have to learn, but that doesn''t seem so daunting. At least not as daunting as staying here."


    "And when you tell him about your return..." Redfred started, but Muru cut in.


    "He''ll just be overjoyed to have his son back. I believe... no parent wishes to see their child perish for a cause that amounts to... nothing. Because that''s what this all feels like now... nothing." Muru''s words tinged with sadness and newfound disdain for all the causes they fought together.


    "Muru, this chaos, it''s just politics; it doesn''t define us. You and I, we''re only..." Redfred attempted to reason, but Muru was done, not allowing him the opportunity to finish.


    "And what will your choice be when they call upon you to wear the white cloak?" Muru''s question was pointed, his intense gaze seeking an answer that Redfred himself might not yet have. "Just as I suspected."


    With those final words, Muru hefted his bag over his shoulder, leaving the room and Redfred behind.


    For many of the Magis who continued to stand and fight against the tide Muru was fleeing from, his name¡ªAnn¡ªwould now be etched with a mark of infamy in their annals. His decision to walk away and seek a different path would forever stain his legacy of being a deserter in the face of adversity.


    And there will be only one who will clean that stain and raise the legacy once more¡ªEsra Ann, Master of the Howling Night, The Noctavia and the Uncrowded King.


    <blockquote>


    It is funny to see how, nowadays, identifying those adhering to the teachings of Magi Mediah has become simpler over time. The removal of the Black Robe during Winter left many Magi without a traditional symbol of their allegiance. The origins of the Opfius emblem are unclear, but it seamlessly integrated into the identity of a Magi. A more troubling development, however, was for some forced¡ªothers not really¡ªto the White Cloak, aligned with the Winterqueen politics, and the emergence of a divisive mentality - if you''re not with us, you''re against us. The era of the Winterqueen, especially in the Capitol, was tumultuous, to say the least. I can''t even imagine how it was there. Men and women from all walks of life fought valiantly, using swords, words, or whatever means necessary in their resistance. When I first learned of the Opfius, it struck me as akin to cattle branding. But then I saw Zora adorned with it, and my perception shifted. In her, the Opfius seemed not just a mark but a symbol that complemented her innate beauty and fierceness. She was the living representation of a Magi, the infinity of a path that doesn''t end with a Black Robe. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0035] - Winterqueen

    <blockquote>


    Ramesonho


    Noun


    Translation: Dreamer (literal meaning, the Dreamer King)


    Definition: The Ramesonho are renowned for their ability to traverse vast expanses of space, realms, and the very fabric of time as if strolling from one dream to the next. They embody the convergence of the waking world and the boundless landscapes of the subconscious, defying physical constraints. In other words they can see and traverse the Veilla. The spirit most closely allied with the Ramesonho is known as the "Dreamer Mouse," a Spirit believed to accompany and aid them on their interdimensional voyages.


    </blockquote>


    The second floor of Whitestone Palace housed a truly extraordinary architectural marvel ¨C an immense, open area dominated by what appeared to be a simple pool. Yet, it was not.


    From this tranquil water source, a complex network of aqueducts radiated outwards like veins, intricately traversing the floor, snaking through the palace walls, and even delving deep into the subterranean layers beneath the palace.


    This central point was much more than a mere feat of natural engineering brilliance; it was the heart of a much larger, arcane reality. It served as the focal point for all ley lines, known as an Ormsaat ¨C these were invisible currents of magical energy that wove through the land, beneath the sea, and above in the sky, connecting the palace to a vast, unseen network of power that encompassed the world itself.


    At the core of this nexus of power, every Dame who had ever reigned wielded their dominion over the world. From this Ormsaat, the heart of the palace, they could connect with the throbbing lattice of ley lines. Here, they harnessed and directed the flow of this raw energy, extending their reach and moulding the very essence of the realm to their will.


    As Fiona carefully moved through the icy water that chilled at her very touch, her thoughts were consumed by the riddle of activating the Ormsaat. Her gaze drifted over the lifeless forms scattered across the marble floor. Servants and guards lay strewn about like statues of shattered glass, their blue blood seeping out onto the marble and mingling with the near-frozen waters. Blue ice crystals formed where their blood met the surface, creating a hauntingly soothing sound as they tinkled gently into the water.


    Fiona felt an unsettling absence of power. There was no magical pulse, no arcane energy responding to her presence. She was left to meander through the cold, still waters, her mind working feverishly to decipher the secret of unlocking the node and claiming her ultimate authority.


    A fleeting pang of regret brushed her thoughts, wishing she had spared a servant or two who might have unravelled the mysteries of the Ormsaat for her. Yet, her pride swiftly quashed this notion, unwilling to betray any sign of weakness or uncertainty.


    Her contemplation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and the sound of a cane. Fiona''s attention snapped to the figure emerging into the room. A man, adorned in a long coat and strange attire that radiated defiance, strode towards her.


    "I thought I made myself perfectly clear about the requirement of white cloaks," she remarked, her voice tinged with annoyance at this unexpected interruption.


    "Clarity doesn''t necessarily equate to agreement," came the reply in a deep, unfamiliar voice. The man holding a strange metallic cane, sporting short red hair and an eyepatch, approached the edge of the pool with a confidence that suggested he knew more than he let on as if he were privy to some secret advantage in this unfolding game.


    "Are you daring to defy my authority?" Fiona demanded, her tone sharp.


    The stranger cast his gaze over the scene, his interest apparently fixated on the pool''s dormant state rather than the gruesome scenery around it, almost as if he were used to it.


    "There''s no challenge to be had against an authority that has yet to assert itself," he said enigmatically. "There are no lights..." he whispered almost in mockery.


    "How dare you¡ª" Fiona began, her words laced with rising indignation, but she was abruptly cut off.


    "You claim the title of Dame, yet before me stands nothing more than a spoiled little princess, lost in her own delusions," the red-haired man remarked coldly, his movements around the pool deliberate and menacing. "Grotesque... you are but a psychopath in regal guise. It''s frankly pitiable."


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    "And who are you?" Fiona retorted, her interest in his identity secondary to the audacity of his provocation. His boldness, coupled with his disregard for her status, was as intriguing as it was infuriating.


    "Just a traveller, a wanderer of sorts," he answered, mocking her. "Perhaps I could be anyone. A foe, a friend, or just a spectator. Who am I? Maybe I¡¯m the father of the one who will kill you! Who knows! It doesn''t really matter. It doesn''t change anything. But tell me, do you understand the why of their black robes?"


    "The Magis? Their robe or no robe is of little consequence to me."


    "My question isn''t about your concern but rather your insight. You''re the daughter of Veilla Mageschstea. Surely, you''ve received some level of education in such matters, haven''t you?"


    "Then, by all means, enlighten me," Fiona retorted sharply, her frustration noticeable as she began to crystallise the water around her waist. "Speak, then!"


    "The black of their robes conceals blood¡ªblue, red, green, any hue. It obscures the race of their victims, be they human, elf, orc, fae, or menschen." He made a longer pause and, with a smirk, added, "Or Dame. It instils fear and sows doubt. After all, whose blood might that be on their robes? Who''s next?" He elucidated, bending down to gently touch the water''s surface.


    Under his fingers, the water began to emit a faint glow.


    Fiona''s eyes widened in surprise as she witnessed the effortless activation of the Ormsaat at his touch. At that moment, recognized the danger he posed. "Get to your point," she demanded.


    "Dress your followers in white if you wish. After all, children do enjoy their playthings. But beware, there''s a new threat: black blood. It needs to be contained and eliminated. And yet, you seem oblivious to this peril," he chided, almost condescendingly. "And you have no idea what the future will hold. And it looks very gruesome in your direction." He clicked his tongue. "I don''t wish to be you, honestly. It''s bad! It is so bad!"


    "I''ve retained a sample for investigation. I''ve only recently taken the crown. Did you expect immediate action?"


    "No, I expected a sovereign. But all I see is bloodshed, wrath, darkness. No glow of the ley line triggered. You possess raw power but lack mastery. It doesn''t bend to your will; you''re at its mercy," he stated, rising and casually flicking the water from his fingers. "You are not a Dame and never will be. But telling you otherwise would be futile."


    "Did you come to stop me?"


    "Across all versions of times and iterations of our encounters, I have ended your life fifty-nine times. You''re not as formidable as you believe, lacking both power and allies," he revealed, his words cold and matter-of-fact.


    "Yet, in this grand scheme of choices and consequences, you are a necessary piece, a casualty I must endure to achieve the desired conclusion. The conclusion that this world desperately needs. That I need! I have earnestly attempted to rid the world of your influence, but it seems an impossible task. Therefore, each time, I''ve chosen to let you live. And I must confess it is a guilty pleasure to see you decapitated in public. Chef¡¯s kiss!"


    "What is this? Who are you? Some kind of spirit?"


    The man merely chuckled at Fiona''s question, choosing to leave it unanswered. "It''s not a threat but an inevitability. You will meet your end, just like your sister that you killed. I''ll try not to miss it when your turn comes. I always find a certain satisfaction in seeing the true Dame, my little girl, rightfully seated on the throne after your head rolls the floor. Is very satisfactory."


    "So, what''s your purpose in all this? What do you aim to achieve with this intrusion?" Fiona demanded, her patience wearing thin and fear crippling in her throat.


    Crouching down to meet her gaze, his single amber eye seemed to pierce through her as if capable of seeing far beyond the physical realm. "Fun. I''m here for my amusement, to plant a seed of self-doubt within you. I wanted to witness the beginning of your downfall. With each interaction that you and I had, I hold out hope that your end will be even more harrowing than in the past."


    Standing up, he clapped his hands against his knees. "One can always dream, can''t they?"


    With that, he took just a couple of steps away and vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared.


    And he was right. With a sinking heart, Fiona realised that she lacked the necessary knowledge or power to activate the Ormsaat. How had he done it so effortlessly? Who was this enigmatic man, and what was his connection to her and the fate he so cryptically alluded to? And he spoke about a daughter? These questions swirled in her mind, adding to the growing turmoil within her.


    A seed he so dearly planted.


    <blockquote>


    When teaching young students about the concept of ley lines, I often find myself drawing parallels with something more familiar to them: electricity. How did the world function in those times? What kept it in motion? Why were the Dames so crucial? Just as electricity is generated in power plants and distributed through a complex network of substations, transformers, and power lines, ley lines once functioned in a similar manner. But unlike our electrical grids, which are solely dedicated to transmitting energy, ley lines did much more. They weren''t just conduits of power; they influenced and tempered the very elements - water, earth, and air. Now, these ley lines lie dormant, yet the world continues to turn. Water still flows, the air still moves, and we still breathe oxygen. When my students ask, "So why do we still have these essentials if there are no Dames to control the ley lines?" I find myself... how do I explain this? I simply don¡¯t. I don¡¯t need to teach everything! They don¡¯t need to know everything I know. And besides it will not even be on the next exam. So yes, I play dumb. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0036] - Echos of Love

    <blockquote>


    Sternmelos


    Noun


    Translation: Star Mushroom


    Definition: The "Sternmelos" are a rare variety of mushrooms known for their bioluminescent properties. These fungi emit a magic glow and are typically found in regions rich with the ley lines energy, known as "Ormsaat." The Sternmelos is a catalyst for powerful hallucinations that weave together the realms of dreams and nightmares. Ingesting Sternmelos can precipitate a journey through the psyche, revealing visions that oscillate between the reality of the now and the fabric of the Veilla, often leaving the user in a state where those boundaries are temporarily dissolved.


    CAUTION: Sternmelos are highly addictive! Please, consume them with moderation! If you consume don¡¯t operate in heavy machinery, don¡¯t consume while pregnant, and be sure to be with someone sober. Stay safe!


    </blockquote>


    Every morning, Noctavia could smell the scent of flowers, particularly golden lilies that covered the house from ceiling to floor. Yeso''s happiness was present with every step he took. More flowers seemed to sprout from him. She was unaware of why. Why would Yeso sprout these flowers? They would sometimes stick for days, if not for moons, and other times, they would vanish in the blink of an eye. But still, it was clear evidence that her Hexe was happy, and she loved them, each petal of them.


    They had been secluded in Faewood for three moons now, blissfully detached and unaware of the happenings of the wider world. The cold and news from Whitestone had not yet reached Faewood.


    Noctavia woke up on their bed as usual, which was actually more of a nest than anything else, ingeniously woven from branches, silks, and vines. Dangling from the ceiling, it possessed a delicate balance, swaying ever so slightly with her every movement. This gentle rocking motion was unexpectedly comforting. Cocooned within her blankets, she felt akin to a little bird. A very spoiled little bird.


    Her days unfolded in a series of rituals meant to pamper her. Mornings greeted her with breakfast in bed, typically an assortment of fruits and seeds prepared by Yeso''s godmama. Then, Howl would lead her on walks through the forest, but these were no ordinary woods; it was an astonishing landscape, dreamy even. They were a symphony of glowing lights and unfamiliar flowers, creating a spectacle like light bubbles floating under the forest canopy. In the background, there was always the voice of a faerie singing in chorus with birds or winds. It made her feel like walking inside a dream that she couldn¡¯t understand to its full extent.


    In the afternoons, Yeso would hunt game for her, and together, they would enjoy a picnic in a secluded spot, a respectful distance from the vegetarian, sort to speak, faeries that hosted them. It wasn''t so much about concealing their actions as it was an act of courtesy towards their gracious hosts.


    Every day brought Noctavia new knowledge, pieces of Yeso''s childhood, new experiences, and a growing sense of contentment. But above all, her happiness stemmed from seeing Yeso so happy and at peace. She now understood why he cherished this place so deeply.


    As the days passed by, Noctavia found that walking had become increasingly challenging. The weight of her growing belly and the persistent ache in her lower back were constant reminders of her advancing pregnancy. Despite this, she endeavoured not to complain, aware of how attentively Howl and Yeso watched over her, always ready to drop everything at a moment''s notice to come to her aid.


    "Master?"


    "I''m okay, Howl. We can walk a bit further," Noctavia reassured him, even as she supported her back with her hand.


    "Let''s go home."


    "I''m fine," she insisted. Her determination stemmed from a deeper need. She wanted to return to a specific clearing in the heart of the woods, a modest spot marked by a lone stump. It was there, less than a moon ago, that a vision had come to her, and it was essential for her to revisit the place.


    She needed to see it again, to delve deeper into it and grasp the meaning of what she had witnessed. The entire sequence of events was set in motion by a seemingly innocuous bowl of soup ¨C a mushroom soup, to be more specific.


    Unbeknownst to Noctavia, she consumed it as a normal part of her breakfast routine. In the absence of Yeso, who might have cautioned her otherwise, she had no reason to suspect anything unusual about it. The soup contained star mushrooms, named not for their shape but for their distinctive blue glow, reminiscent of a starlit sky.


    Only later did Noctavia learn about these mushrooms'' unique properties. They grew on ley lines, imbued with energies that rendered them powerfully hallucinogenic, especially to those unaccustomed to their consumption.


    The effects they induced were not just simple hallucinations; they tore through the fabric of reality, transporting the consumer into an entirely different realm of experience. Present, past or future, it didn''t matter.


    The faeries, familiar as they were with the peculiarities of their forest, couldn''t provide much insight. Being intrinsic creatures of the ley lines themselves, they had never undergone the effects of the star mushrooms. As a result, their understanding of the experience was limited, offering little guidance to Noctavia in her unexpected journey.


    Noctavia chose not to tell Yeso about her experience. Her reluctance derived not from the accidental consumption of the mushrooms but from the nature of what she saw during the vision. The revelation was disturbing, unsettling, and deeply biased, compelling her to grapple with its implications alone.


    Upon reaching the clearing, Noctavia leaned back against the stump, her gaze lifting to the sky, veiled by foliage radiating a soft, green glow. Beside her, the Howling Night, who had been unusually quiet, signalling his concern, rested his head in her lap.


    She closed her eyes, hoping to rekindle the vision that had so profoundly affected her, but nothing materialized. The notion of deliberately using a hallucinogen during her pregnancy was not something she considered prudent, but it started to be tempting.


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    Gently patting Howl''s head, her mind wandered back to the haunting vision. It featured a young man with golden hair akin to her own and bearing a striking resemblance to Mediah, yet cropped unevenly near to his scalp. He had a golden infinity symbol between his eyebrow, and his eyes and lips were sealed with crude stitches, presenting a visage both haunting and pitiable. He leaned wearily against the stump beside her, and in his arms, he tenderly held a baby, a menschen with delicate wings. It was evident in his demeanour that his time was drawing to a close, his tears and murmured words all directed towards the innocent child he cradled.


    His eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, held the baby with an intensity that seemed to transcend time itself. "You promise you''ll be strong, right?" he whispered, his voice a soft caress in the still air. "Everything is going to be okay. I''ve made certain of it." A wistful smile danced upon his lips, bittersweet and tender, ¡°This is the right one; we did it, you¡¯ll see. Everything will be alright.¡± He coughed some blood stain on his arm but still smiled. ¡°No more End of Time, right?¡±


    His voice started to crack, "I''m just sad that I can''t stay by your side, but at least you''re free from our hex. You can meet other guys or, ¡­ maybe girls? Though they won''t be as handsome as me," he added with a playful tone, trying to hide his trembling voice.


    "But please," his tone shifted, an earnest plea colouring his words, "stay away from dragons. And... and... I don''t have a single regret. If given the chance to do it all again, I would embrace every moment, every step." His gaze softened, a gentle laughter escaping him, lightening the gravity of the farewell. "Perhaps I would have stolen that kiss from you a tad sooner..." he mused, his eyes twinkling with unspoken stories translated into tears. ¡°Like very, very sooner!¡±


    Gazing at her, a cascade of memories seemed to pass through his eyes. "Even as a baby, you are adorable, damn you¡­ Do you imagine how our kids would be... I truly love you. I know these words might fade from your memory, but I love you so much." His voice trembled slightly. "I just want you to find happiness. The world," he paused, his expression turning solemn, "needs golden lilies like you more than you can fathom. Be happy, Eura. Please be happy as much or even more happy than I was with you."


    And as he spoke these final words, his body began to disintegrate into a myriad of golden butterflies. Each butterfly, glowing with soft, ethereal light, fluttered upwards, creating a swirling vortex of luminescence. They soared gracefully, guided by an unseen force, toward the direction of Yeso''s godmother''s house, leaving behind a trail of shimmering light and the echo of a love that defied the bounds of time and magic.


    The name ''Eura'' reverberated in her memory, a name he repeated over and over with such love and such devotion that only a hexe could feel.


    The vision filled Noctavia with an inexplicable sadness. Why was she witnessing the final moments of a man losing everything dear to him? The sorrow was overwhelming, fracturing her heart in a way she had never experienced. She felt his loss as if it were her own, yet knew it was not. Or was it?


    Despite this turmoil, Noctavia hesitated to share this with Yeso. His joy upon their arrival at Faewood had been more than obvious. So, she remained silent.


    A sudden shadow enshrouded her, coaxing her eyes upwards. His soaked dreadlocks cascaded around his scarcely clad form, except for the short trousers that ceased just above his ankles. "Why are you sad?" Yeso asked while nestled beside her, draping her with a wing drenched yet comforting, and his gaze intensely fixed on her, probed once more, "Why are you sad?"


    She felt the urge to deny, to mask her truth, but it was a futile endeavour against her Hexe. "I had a vision," she confessed, her voice a mere breath in the air.


    "Was it so troubling?" he gently pressed.


    She nodded.


    "Do you wish to talk about it?" he asked, not forcing but subtly drawing her closer. His skin, though wet, was a refreshing contrast, radiating a scent of pine mingled with the essence of rain-soaked earth.


    "Not at this moment," she whispered, "Why are you drenched?"


    "I went on fishing, prepared our lunch, and then sought you out," he explained, a chuckle in his voice. "I thought you might be tired of meat yet still in need of protein, so I turned to fish..." He paused, his laughter softening, "It appears I''m not very good at it. But I tried!"


    She leaned closer to him, "Thank you."


    "I want to help you as best I can," he said, "I can feel you are tired, that your feet are swollen, your back hurts, and you''re sad. I hate to feel you sad and not knowing why."


    "I had soup!" she blurted.


    "So, you''re not hungry?" he asked, slightly puzzled.


    "No, I mean, I ate soup the other day," she clarified, "The one your godmama made."


    It took a moment for Yeso to comprehend her reference, his eyes widening in realization. "Are you okay? Do you... know where you are?"


    "Yes..."


    "Why didn''t you tell me?"


    "I was unaware myself," she murmured, "And then..."


    "Then, what exactly did you see? Something you''re reluctant to tell me?" His kiss was gentle upon her hair''s crown. "Is our child in danger?"


    "No," she assured.


    "Could I be the one facing danger?" he probed softly, his hand tenderly brushing hair from her eyes.


    She shook her head, a silent negation. "I don''t believe so."


    "What about our friends?" His question was a whisper, a feather-light touch on her cheek.


    "I don''t know, Yeso," her voice wavered, betraying her internal conflict.


    A thoughtful hush briefly enveloped them, a serene pause in their conversation. Yeso, guided by an almost otherworldly intuition, shattered the silence. "Is Eura implicated in this?" he asked.


    "I think she might be," she admitted.


    "We journey through lessons of the past, embrace the reality of the present, and often harbour fears for what the future might hold. But, I''m not entirely sure that Eura will ever cross our path," he mused thoughtfully, his embrace around her tightening.


    "Why are we experiencing these visions, these fleeting peeks into an unknown?" she pondered aloud. "Visions of creatures that don''t seem to exist in our reality."


    "Perhaps it''s not us who are haunted by these visions. Maybe we are the visions haunting them," Yeso suggested, his voice laced with a subtle smile as if attempting to dispel the shadows that clung to her heart.


    "It''s not just her, though... her Hexe is also intertwined in this," she reflected a hint of perplexity in her voice.


    "I don''t know, my love. I don¡¯t¡­"


    "But somehow, that idea is strangely comforting," she confessed, nestling closer into his embrace, finding solace in his presence, seeking just a few moments more in the safety of his arms. "His name is Esra. Esra Ann."


    "But our son will be Orlo," Yeso gently corrected, "So, we are good."


    A smile, soft and tender, touched her lips at the sound of Yeso uttering their son''s name for the first time.


    <blockquote>


    "Both humans and elves, believe in a higher entity, a deity reigning over the common mortal. It''s a shared understanding among the other creatures ¨C gods, in the traditional sense, do not exist in our realms. Spirits, contrary to ancient beliefs, don''t exist to be served by us. Instead, they aid those who carry within them the seed. I think I have explained enough in the previous manuscripts what those seeds are. Yet, there lies an intriguing contradiction in our collective consciousness. We, beings of diverse origins, are inexplicably drawn to transcendental phenomena. Take, for instance, the profound significance we place on the meanings of dreams, the transformative visions induced by a simple star mushroom, or the deeply rooted belief that, in one way or another, our paths will intertwine again in another life. We don''t bow to a deity, yet we invariably, and perhaps unconsciously, follow the enigmatic guidance of our hearts. The only truth that we all agree upon." ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0037] - Echos of Love

    <blockquote>


    Rotblut


    Noun


    Translation: Red Blood / Death Blood


    Pronunciation: /?o?t''blu?t/


    Definition: It is the sanguine fluid that courses through the veins of beings who are viewed as ephemeral; their lifespans markedly brief when measured against the ageless creatures of blue or green blood that inhabit the world. Rotblut is thus perceived as a harbinger of death, a sign of an innate ''sickness'' or impermanence. Creatures with Rotblut, or those who become contaminated by it, are pitied and seen as afflicted, for the red essence marks them for a destiny bound by the inexorable decay of their short time.


    </blockquote>


    Noctavia woke up alone on the bed. The gentle rocking motion of the nest was a stark contrast to the room''s stillness. She searched for any sign of Yeso or the usual morning breakfast. Still, she found neither, a pang of disappointment settling within her.


    Sitting up became an ever-increasing challenge, her body adapting slowly to the monumental changes. Her belly, now immense, seemed as if it bore the weight of the nine moons, its heft rivalling the dwarf''s steadfast mountains of Skoe Scana.


    Inhaling deeply, gathering strength from the very air around her, Noctavia gracefully jumped from the bed to the floor. Each step was slow and plump. She started to believe her child would be as huge as a double-sized pumpkin.


    She made her way to the kitchen. Upon entering, she heard the clink of porcelain and the soft swish of water and saw Yeso''s godmother immersed in the simple task of washing dishes.


    The faerie, known to Noctavia simply as "godmama," was indeed a very old fairy, embodying the unique faerie trait of ageing in reverse. Thus, to Noctavia''s eyes, she appeared as a child, small and sprightly, standing on a stool to reach the sink.


    Despite her youthful appearance, her gaze held the depth and wisdom of many lifetimes, her smile warm and knowing, slightly out of place on her otherwise jovial, childlike face.


    "Oh, I see you woke up," the godmother said, her voice tinged with a mirth that seemed to fill the room. "I made some fresh pie," she added, nodding towards the table with a playful tilt of her chin.


    Noctavia''s eyes were immediately drawn to the pie covered with a cloth on the table. She approached and carefully lifted the cloth, curiosity piqued about the contents. The sweet aroma of apples wafted up to greet her.


    "Don''t worry, it''s apples! Not mushrooms," the godmother chuckled, referencing Noctavia''s recent adventure with star mushrooms. "Yeso told me about it the other day."


    "Oh, it''s my fault. I should have known better," Noctavia responded, a hint of sheepishness in her voice.


    "Eat up before he comes back. You know how he is with apple pie," the fairy warned playfully.


    "Where did he go?" Noctavia asked while slicing a piece of the pie.


    "We have two faeries about to sprout, so he''s helping set things up," the godmother explained, turning back to the dishes with a smile. "We''re going to have a welcome party."


    "Oh, that sounds nice," Noctavia replied, sitting down at the table to enjoy the pie. The godmother added, "I made some tea for you as well. And soon, we''ll be having a party for you and your little one."


    "You think I''m almost due?" Noctavia asked, her mouth full of the delicious apple pie.


    "I hope so. Otherwise, you''ll be rolling!" the godmother joked, her laughter light-filled with joy resonating in the cosy kitchen. The room, brimming with the scents of home-baked pie and freshly brewed tea, felt like a sanctuary, a place where worries seemed to melt away, even if just for a moment.


    Godmama jumped off the stool with the grace unique to her kind, her moth wings fluttering lightly. She sat beside Noctavia, who still found the faerie''s presence somewhat intimidating despite her diminutive and whimsical appearance.


    Without warning, Godmama placed her tiny hands on Noctavia''s belly, rubbing it gently. "This one is special, very special. And very smart," she murmured with a sense of awe.


    "You can feel him?"


    "When you''ve seen as much as I have, you tend to see more," Godmama replied cryptically. "But I like this one. I like him very much. He will be a good Menschen, like his father. A very good man." She then looked at Noctavia, a playful glint in her eye. "I''m sorry, child, the only thing he will inherit from you is shortness. This boy will be short, as short as me!"


    Noctavia was torn between laughter and mild offence, still processing the remark when the door swung open. Yeso entered, his appearance startling ¡ª almost naked, save for his wet trench trousers, dripping water onto the floor.


    "You''re wetting my floor!" Godmama exclaimed, half-scolding, half-amused.


    "Oh," Yeso looked around, somewhat sheepishly. "I came to wake Noctavia."


    "Poor creature had to jump out of bed and was starving! Is this how I taught you to take care of your woman!" Godmama chided him. "I''m very disappointed! Do better!" She continued, winking an eye at Noctavia.


    "I... I was helping outside, and they asked me to try..." Yeso stammered, struggling to explain.


    "She was famished! A pregnant woman shouldn''t have to jump from bed like this! I taught you better," Godmama said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "What a disappointment!"


    Yeso''s face flushed a mix of blue and red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. "I''m sorry... my love," he said, looking at her devouring the pie. "What''s that?"


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Pie," Noctavia answered simply, her mouth still full.


    "What kind?"


    "Not mushroom," Noctavia replied, her voice muffled by the delicious pie and holding her chuckles.


    Yeso approached the table and sniffed the pie, his expression changing to one of confusion. "You said there was none left!"


    "I did no such thing," Godmama retorted.


    "Yes, you did, I asked you!" Yeso insisted, his confusion evident. "Is there any apple pie, and you said, no, you eat it all. And here!" He pointed to the plate. "Here it is! Apple pie!"


    "Do you remember me telling him that?" Godmama asked, turning to Noctavia with an amused expression.


    Noctavia, her mouth still full, offered the last bite of her slice to Yeso, a silent gesture that spoke volumes. "I don''t need to hear it; if he can smell it, he will ask for it."


    Later that day, as Noctavia approached the gathering, she observed everyone surrounding two flowers, which looked like green cocoons, heavy enough to have fallen to the ground. The assembly was diverse: faeries were in abundance, but there were also faes, a handful of humans, and elves.


    Faewood thrived with a unique community spirit, where it seemed everyone knew each other, and a sense of collective care and responsibility permeated the air. This communal harmony left Noctavia intrigued, as she had yet to decipher the dynamics of power within Faewood if such existed at all.


    Amidst the crowd, her eyes found Claramae, a familiar face she hadn''t seen since leaving the settlement. Claramae was notable among the faeries of Faewood, one of the few who ventured beyond the woods to acquire resources not found or producible within their realm.


    Noctavia remembered hearing about her expeditions to gather items such as gasoline and gunpowder, used for fireworks, among other things, along with various other human inventions quaintly referred to as such by the inhabitants of Faewood.


    Claramae''s role was crucial, bridging the gap between the faerie world of Faewood and the outside human world.


    Noctavia watched as the cocoon began to stir and deform, suggesting a struggle within. It appeared as if someone, or something, was trying to forge a path out, a process that seemed painstakingly slow and laborious.


    Her instincts urged her to intervene to assist these seemingly trapped beings, her heart aching at the thought of their suffocation within the floral prisons.


    However, as her thoughts and doubts swirled, Yeso enveloped her in the shelter of his wings. This embrace, while immensely comforting, also served as a silent message: a reminder to observe and not interfere.


    The wait seemed interminable until, finally, a hand breached the surface of the cocoon, breaking through in a slow, deliberate motion. This was followed, after what felt like another eternity, by the appearance of a foot.


    The emergence of the new fairy was a momentous occasion. She appeared as a wrinkled, elderly lady, her body slick with the green resin of the flower cocoon. As she struggled to rise, two faeries swiftly came to her aid, draping her with a mantle and assisting her to stand.


    Their whispered exchanges culminated in one of them announcing the fairy''s new name, "Magdalene, or from now on, Maddy!" The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, celebrating the birth of a new being in their community.


    However, Noctavia''s attention was quickly drawn to the other cocoon. Something about it seemed amiss. A red liquid, starkly different from the green of the first cocoon, was seeping from its initial tear. And there was no doubt it was red blood, human blood. This unusual sign caught her eye, and she nudged Yeso, pointing it out to him. "Is that normal?" she asked.


    Upon seeing it, Yeso''s eyes widened in alarm. "No," he uttered.


    Acting on her instincts, Noctavia called for the Howling Night. "Howl!" she exclaimed, and in response to her summon, time itself seemed to halt.


    The faeries, elves, and other beings of Faewood froze, captured in a moment of stillness.


    Howl materialized from the shadows, the mysterious white mouse still accompanying him, its origins and nature unknown to both Noctavia and Yeso. But none of them had time to delve into it.


    "I don''t know if we shall intervene," Yeso questioned.


    "What if we don''t? She might die," Noctavia countered.


    "Not all faeries survive, and if something is wrong with her, they will eat her!" Yeso explained, revealing a harsher reality of faerie custom.


    "I thought it was only when they were hungry," Noctavia replied, slightly taken aback.


    "Let me think... We''ll need to remove her from the flower, clean it, and put her back... but if something is wrong with her, we leave her there!" Yeso proposed, albeit reluctantly.


    "Sounds like a plan..." Noctavia agreed, though her tone betrayed her indecision.


    Yeso approached the cocoon and began to peel it open carefully. The faerie inside trembled, seemingly gasping for air. Noctavia noticed that she was bleeding from her nails, likely injured in her frantic attempt to escape the petal enclosure. It was her blood they saw. Her red blood.


    Gently, Noctavia cleaned the faerie''s wounds with her skirt, then peered inside the flower. "All is clean here," she announced.


    Turning to Yeso for guidance, Noctavia was startled when the faerie''s wrinkled hands suddenly grasped her face. "Eura! You''re here! Such a good girl, I made you apple pie, you''ll love it! It''s your favourite! But don''t tell Maddy anything, or she''ll say I spoil you," the faerie babbled, recognizing Noctavia as someone else.


    Confusion etched on her face, she looked to Yeso for an explanation. This was unprecedented; the faeries shouldn''t have been able to move under her Chronostasis, yet here one was, interacting with her.


    "What the...?" she uttered, bewildered.


    Yeso, equally shocked, could only stutter, "What do..."


    Together, they carefully helped the faerie back into the flower, arranging the petals to close it around her. The faerie continued to move and speak, oblivious to the unusual circumstances. She spoke the names of Orlo, Zora, Eura, Esra and Jaja and wouldn¡¯t stop muttering more names and facts.


    Having done what they could, Noctavia and Yeso hurried back to their positions. With a final nod from Noctavia, time resumed its normal flow, the frozen tableau of faeries, elves, and other beings springing back to life, unaware of the brief pause that had just occurred.


    The faerie emerged from the flower as if the earlier incident had never occurred. The gathered crowd erupted into cheers, celebrating her birth with joyous exclamations.


    Perplexed by the recent events, Noctavia turned to Howl, seeking answers to the flurry of questions swirling in her mind. "What just happened?" she asked.


    However, Howl simply melted back into the shadows, leaving her questions unanswered.


    Noctavia was left standing amidst the celebratory crowd, her mind racing with thoughts. The anomaly of the faerie moving under her Chronostasis, the unexpected recognition of Eura¡ªall these elements wove a tapestry of mystery that Noctavia couldn''t yet unravel. She glanced at Yeso, hoping for some semblance of understanding, but it was clear that they were both left in the dark.


    Something was brewing, something that they couldn''t understand yet. Something big.


    <blockquote>


    "Those familiar with my writings will know that the first decade of my life was spent in Faewood, among faeries. It was a time of wonder that shaped my understanding of their world and others. Yet, upon leaving my childhood hometown, I was struck by how starkly different their reality was from other creatures. Faeries, as I''ve already explained, are born from flowers, nurtured by the energy of ley lines. What seems extraordinary to us is merely the fabric of their everyday life. It was my normal, too. However, the passing of Maddie marked a profound moment of realization. In Faewood, her demise was not just a loss; it was a rupture in the natural order we all knew. To witness the light of a faerie extinguish was akin to seeing a leaf fall and crumble, not returning its essence to the earth, a cycle broken. Me leaving Faewood started with the faeries not wanting to return her to the ground with fear of contamination. And I was there, a kid watching his bestfriend die, leaving behind no trace, only a seed, which was refused to be planted in the Ortfeen. I hated them all. Even after all these Summers, a question haunts my thoughts ¨C how did a faerie, a being connected to the ley lines, become infected with Red Blood? It''s a mystery that lingers, blurring the lines between the ordinary and the exceptional. A sign that what was once extraordinary is morphing into our new normal? As I pen these words, Maddie is okay, feeding from the Sun itself."  ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0038] - Echos of Love

    <blockquote>


    Por bitte ajuda mir es


    Phrase


    Translation: [Desperate Plea for Aid]


    Definition: "Por bitte ajuda mir es" is an expression of dire entreaty when facing situations of extreme peril. This phrase is not used lightly; it is reserved for moments when the speaker is utterly vulnerable and in need of immediate intervention, often in life-threatening circumstances.


    </blockquote>


    Noctavia lay awake in the darkness, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, while Yeso''s restless movements made the bed swing in the air. She could sense the weight of his thoughts, the burden of something unspoken between them. Gently, she turned towards him, draping her arm around his shoulder in a comforting embrace. "You want to talk about it?" she asked softly.


    "I''m sorry, I always forget the bed moves," he whispered with a distracted apology. He hadn''t turned to face her yet, but his words polluted the silence in the dark.


    "It''s fine, but you need to sleep, too."


    After a moment of silence, the bed swayed slightly more with the weight shift and finally spoke again. "I think I know why we are seeing an echo of them," he confessed, facing her.


    "Oh, why?" Noctavia''s curiosity piqued.


    He hesitated, his words coming out in a whisper laden with fear. "There''s something I never told you because I was afraid if I did..."


    "You were afraid? Of me?" Noctavia interjected, disappointed, not just at his secret but also at the fact that he felt the need to hide anything from her.


    He swallowed hard, the emotional knot in his throat almost audible. "I was afraid if I told you... you would force me to stay with Veilla."


    Her chuckle was soft, tinged with disbelief. "Why would I do that?"


    Yeso struggled to articulate his thoughts. "I can... Veilla can''t... I haven''t been fishing... I mean, I do fish... that part is true, but there''s another reason why I have..." His words were disjointed, a tangled web of half-truths and hesitations.


    It was clear he was deeply frightened to reveal whatever secret he harboured. Noctavia''s own apprehension grew, a knot forming in her stomach at the thought of what this revelation might entail.


    "It''s okay if you don''t tell me. I won''t pry," she reassured him, caressing his cheek with her thumb.


    Yeso took a deep, steadying breath, his eyes locking with hers in the dark. "What if I show you?" he proposed.


    Noctavia followed Yeso through the dense woods, her discomfort growing with each step. Her swollen ankles ached, and a persistent pain nagged at her lower back and between her thighs.


    Despite this, she refrained from voicing her discomfort. Yeso, being her Hexe, was attuned to her feelings and physical state. Complaining seemed redundant when he was already acutely aware of her struggles.


    Yet, his determined stride didn''t falter, as if he was driven by a need to outpace his own fears to prevent them from seizing him and turning him back as if nothing had happened. As if he never tried to say anything.


    This realization kept Noctavia silent. She understood the gravity of this for Yeso and how crucial it was for him to reveal whatever secret he harboured.


    Their path led deeper into the forest, where darkness enveloped them like a thick blanket. Yeso''s grip on her hand was firm.


    Finally, the soothing sound of cascading water reached her ears, piercing the silence of the night. It was too dark to see clearly, but the sound was unmistakable.


    "It''s here," Yeso announced. "You should sit, you''re exhausted."


    "I''m fine," she replied, hearing the rustle of clothing and feeling the weight of his shirt as he placed it in her arms. "What are you doing?" she asked, confused.


    "I''ll show you," Yeso responded, his voice moving away from her.


    The sound of water being disturbed reached her ears as Yeso stepped into the water. Noctavia''s heart raced.


    As she stood at the water''s edge, enveloped in darkness, the initial quiet was broken only by the sound of water splashing. Yeso was swimming, she surmised, trying to make sense of the situation.


    Then, unexpectedly, a wave of intense sensation swept through her body, like a surge of adrenaline rushing from her toes to her head. Her heart pounded fiercely, alarmingly fast as if she was on the brink of fainting. But the realization soon hit her¡ªit wasn''t her own physical response she was feeling.


    She was merely sore from the walk, nothing more. As her heartbeat returned to normal, the darkness before her eyes seemed to transform. What she saw then was the secret Yeso had concealed from her, a revelation that explained his fear and hesitation¡ªa secret he had kept for aeons from her.


    The Noctavia, who once served the Dame and would have insisted Yeso stay with Veilla for the good of their people, was vastly different from the Noctavia, who now stood as Yeso''s Hexe.


    At that moment, she understood Yeso''s fear. Had he revealed this secret earlier, she might have indeed urged him to remain with Veilla. But now, things were different. They were different. The sight before her defied words; it was a beauty that transcended language, a spectacle so breathtaking that she found herself lost for expression.


    Yeso stood in the water, his figure illuminated by golden lines that traced a path from his eyes down his neck to his torso, merging with the water and radiating out into the surroundings. Noctavia realized with astonishment that they were at a ley line node, and Yeso had activated its power.


    Throughout their time together, she had seen Yeso in various states¡ªsmiling, crying, laughing, angry, annoyed or whatever¡ªbut never had she seen him like this. At this moment, he transcended all her prior perceptions, embodying a beauty that was almost celestial, ethereal, just like a Spirit. It felt as though he was part of another world, one that she could only observe in silent wonder.


    He reached out a hand, beckoning her. "Come here, Zonnestra, come," he urged gently. "It''s safe, I promise."


    Hesitantly, she stepped into the water, and he immediately enveloped her in a comforting embrace. The water was unexpectedly warm and soothing, and his scent surrounded her, a familiar and intoxicating presence.


    "So, you can do¡­ this?"


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    "Yeah... I can do this," he replied softly.


    "It''s... breathtaking."


    "Never as much as you," he responded, embracing her from behind and resting his cheek against her shoulder.


    "I thought only the Dame could do it," she murmured, still trying to process the revelation.


    "No, Veilla can''t. That''s why I think she chose me back then. And then, the last time I was in Whitestone, she had a jail prepared for me... I lived there for so long and never noticed. Which made me think that... I don''t think she ever loved me."


    "Do you..." she started to ask, but he interrupted.


    "No, I feel relieved. I felt guilty about leaving her alone with the throne at that time, but now, I''m free. I don''t care anymore," he smiled, "I don''t have to."


    Noctavia''s gaze locked onto Yeso''s, seeking clarity in the midst of the ethereal glow that surrounded them. "If she can''t work with the ley lines, how has she managed so far?" she asked.


    "It has never been Fall but Spring," Yeso revealed, "Fiorna is the real Dame."


    "You said you knew why we saw them," she pressed, seeking answers to the visions of Eura and Esra that had been a source of mystery.


    Yeso responded not with words but with a tender gesture. He lifted her chin gently and kissed her. Under his touch, Noctavia felt a warmth spread through her, but when she opened her eyes, expecting to see Yeso, she was met with a different sight.


    The person before her wasn''t Yeso, at least not the Yeso she had known.


    Noctavia watched, her heart caught in a scene before her unfolding like a dream. The girl in the water, with her diamond hair and eyes of indescribable shades, was surrounded by golden lines that traced a path from her eyes down her neck and torso and spread through the cave walls, resembling alchemical symbols. This wasn''t Yeso, but Eura.


    "How do you do this?" he asked, his voice filled with a genuine sense of wonder.


    Eura looked around, slightly perplexed. "I don''t understand."


    "Each time I look at you, you are more beautiful than the last. So, how do you do that?" His question was sincere, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that spoke of deep fascination.


    Eura smiled, a hint of modesty in her voice. "You''re overreacting."


    Esra ¨C the name Noctavia now understood belonged to her in this form ¨C shook his head. "I''m not. You''re truly something, Eura."


    "You said my name..." There was a note of surprise in her voice.


    "And I love it. It has become my favourite word."


    She chuckled lightly. "A word?"


    "Yes, a word," he continued, his smile growing. "It signifies both good morning and good night. It asks, may I stay? May I go with you? It means happiness, yet it scares me. It means I am not alone. It also means... home."


    "That''s quite a burden for one word to bear," she replied, her smile broadening in response to his.


    Esra''s smile matched hers. "It''s a remarkable word, a stubborn and fearless one. It doesn''t look back, dreams as high as the sky, makes a mess when it eats with a strange obsession with apple pie, doesn''t know how to braid and tells awful jokes... just like you. It embodies everything I need it to... and more."


    At that moment, Noctavia witnessed the raw, unguarded emotions that Esra ¨C herself in another form ¨C harboured for Eura, the same she felt for Yeso.


    Esra couldn''t maintain eye contact with her, his gaze averting to reveal his shame finally, "The Summerqueen didn''t choose me. This is... this is the last time we will see each other or be together," he confessed, resigned.


    "I''m sorry, Ann," Eura responded as if it was her fault.


    "It''s all right. I''ll be fine," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.


    "Perhaps, one day..." she started, her voice trailing off.


    "We meet in another life?" he interjected, his eyes lifting to the cave''s ceiling, tracing the strange shapes and drawings etched there by the ley lines.


    And then proceeded, "I told you I didn''t want things to change, that I''d rather have something than nothing. And today, I realized that I''ll end up with nothing, so... does it matter if it changes?" His rhetorical question hung in the air.


    "So... I... I love you. I''m utterly, fucking in love with you. I think... I''ve loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. And there isn''t a single thing I don''t love about you. Your stubbornness, recklessness, messy eating habits, terrible joke puns. I love you. The whole you."


    Eura felt overwhelming. She stepped back in the water, her heart pounding, cheeks flushed, palms damp with sweat. The tumult of feelings inside her was tangible ¨C a turmoil of unease, surprise, and an inexplicable yearning.


    "It''s okay if you don''t want to say anything. You don''t have to. You don''t have to feel the same way as I do, but I know you do. I just wanted to let you know that you make me a better version of myself." Esra''s gaze moved from the ley lines'' reflection in the water to her.


    "So there it is. You know how I feel. I, Esra Ann, like a fool, fell in love with you."


    Returning his gaze to his own reflection in the water, Esra smiled, frustration and happiness evident on his face. It was as if a great burden had been lifted from his chest.


    As he turned back to Eura, he tried to read her emotions, which seemed like a maelstrom of chaos and confusion. But then, he noticed something extraordinary ¨C vines and bright golden lilies growing around her, blooms sprouting into vibrant, shining petals. She remained silent, not a word.


    When Noctavia returned to the present moment, tears streamed down her face, mirroring those on Yeso''s cheeks. His decision to come to Faewood was not just because of the birth of their child. Yeso was orchestrating something monumental, laying down a legacy to safeguard their baby.


    There, in the waters of a place of power, surrounded by the radiating ley lines that intertwined through the lake and the woods, they held each other. Crying in each other''s arms.


    Noctavia grappled with the reasons behind their tears. Was it the sorrow of knowing that after aeons of being together, they were approaching an inevitable end? Was it the uncertainty of how that end would come or the daunting realization of what awaited them in another life if such a thing existed?


    She hesitated to voice these questions, fearing the answers might only deepen their sorrow. Yet, in her heart, pieces of a larger puzzle began to fall into place. Yeso''s visions had begun at the Whitestone node, while hers had started at Faewood, close to another node. It was as if the ley lines themselves were signalling the proximity of a significant, perhaps final chapter.


    Yeso gently whispered into her ear, "You okay?"


    "It doesn''t make sense," she admitted, her voice reflecting her inner turmoil. "Nothing makes sense."


    Yeso began, "We knew that one day..."


    But she cut him off, her confusion spilling over. "It''s not about us, but about them. I saw him die when she was a baby, and you showed me the two of them grown up. It doesn''t make sense."


    "I don''t know what it is, how it will be... but something is going to happen... that doesn''t make sense." Yeso could feel the emotional storm brewing within her, threatening to erupt.


    "It doesn''t make sense," she repeated.


    "I know," Yeso acknowledged softly.


    "What about our baby? We won''t..." Her words trailed off into tears; the fear of missing all the milestones of their unborn child was taking over her.


    "Maybe we will... I don''t know... but I''m doing everything to keep him saved," Yeso assured her.


    "What could you possibly..." Noctavia''s question trailed off as Yeso gently lifted her chin, directing her gaze upwards. Above them, a web of intricate golden lines shimmered against the night sky.


    "I''m building a dome," he explained softly. "That''s why I''ve spent so much time here. If we aren''t here, this will be... it will protect him from whatever comes from outside."


    "It looks like a fishnet," she observed.


    "I told you I have been fishing," he replied with a light chuckle. "Come, let''s go home," Yeso said, starting to walk towards the bank of the lake.


    But he stopped abruptly, realizing Noctavia wasn''t following. Turning back, he found her rooted to the spot as if frozen. "What''s wrong? You don''t want to come?"


    "You trust me, right?" Noctavia asked, her tone serious.


    "Of course, but..." Yeso''s response trailed off, puzzled by her demeanour.


    "Blindfold yourself!"


    "Why?" Yeso chuckled nervously. "Why would you want me to..."


    "Do it, I beg you!" Noctavia''s movements were quick as she dipped her hands into the water and grabbed the hem of her skirt, ripping a strip of fabric to form a makeshift blindfold. She extended it towards Yeso.


    "Please, trust me."


    "Zonnestra?"


    "I need you, please," she insisted, holding out the torn piece of fabric. ¡°Por bitte ajuda mir es!¡±


    <blockquote>


    I can''t count enough how I regretted including the ley lines in my lectures. I recall a period marked by endless meetings and discussions with my peers. The topic at hand was the potential removal of ley lines content from my curriculum. The reason? The increasing number of human students each Summer in my classes who struggled to grasp the concept of ley lines - understanding what they are, how they function, and why the world continues to exist without actively manipulating these lines. Interestingly, students from other species didn''t share this confusion. They seemed to accept that some answers exist without the need for questions. This situation led me to a profound self-reflection. Having taught for as long as I can remember, I began to question my effectiveness as an educator. Was I failing to communicate these complex ideas? Could it be that age was catching up with me, dimming my teaching abilities? Despite these doubts, I know I can''t retire yet. I''m holding out for a specific moment ¨C the day my daughter will finally knock on my door. Until then, I needed to keep on dreaming.  ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0039] - Echos of Love

    <blockquote>


    Sehr em ver


    Phrase


    Translation: Nice to meet you


    Definition: "Sehr em ver" is a formal greeting in Menschen, used when making someone''s acquaintance. The phrase expresses a sense of pleasure or honor in the meeting. It is a polite expression, typically used in respectful or formal situations, and can also imply a degree of positive anticipation for the relationship or interaction that is to follow.


    </blockquote>


    "Yeso," Noctavia called out, "Are you listening?"


    Quickly understanding the moment''s gravity, Yeso snatched the fabric strip from her trembling hands, binding it across his eyes. "I still don''t see why this is necessary," he began, his voice trailing off as he was abruptly cut short by a piercing scream that seemed to emanate from the very core of his Hexe.


    "Zonnestra?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her, supporting her as they leaned against the cool, damp bank of the lake. "Is it... are we... are you...?"


    She nodded, her breaths short and laboured. "It''s starting," she managed to gasp out between clenched teeth.


    "We need help, love. I can''t do this alone," Yeso said, starting to panic.


    "No, stay with me!" she shouted, her voice echoing with another scream of pain, "You promised!"


    Yeso''s mind raced. "Perhaps I could send a signal, a light to the sky. Godmama might see it and¡ª"


    "You promised, Yeso!"


    His words were cut off as time itself seemed to freeze. The world around them stood still, the leaves on the trees motionless, the water of the lake as smooth as glass. They were enveloped in a bubble of suspended time, alone and isolated. Noctavia couldn¡¯t hold her powers in her state of distress.


    "What should I do? What..." Yeso''s voice trailed off again, uncertain, his blindfolded eyes reflecting his helplessness.


    "I need to... I..." Noctavia''s words were cut short by another scream, a raw sound of pain and fear. She wasn''t actively pushing; the pain was overwhelming, leaving her unsure of how to proceed. Both of them were in the dark.


    "Okay, love, try to breathe... just try to..."


    "I''m trying!"


    In that moment of desperation, the Howling Night appeared beside them from the shadows, its presence a sudden but not unwelcome intrusion. Alongside the wolf was a small white mouse, an incongruous yet familiar figure.


    "Oh, boy, oh, boy! How exciting! Finally, I will meet my master," the mouse exclaimed with a voice that seemed too large for its small body.


    "Dreamer!" Howl addressed the mouse sharply, "Can you help?"


    "Of course I can!" the mouse responded with enthusiasm, "After all, I am the Dreamer."


    In a moment that seemed both bizarre and utterly natural, the mouse transformed. Legs and arms sprouted from its small body, its form expanding and shifting until it stood as a being in a flowing, graceful white dress with striking white hair and captivating red eyes. Between her lips, she held an amber eye, which not long ago belonged to the Spring herself.


    She removed the eye from her mouth and carefully placed it in Yeso''s unaware hand, which trembled slightly under the weight of the mysterious object. "Don''t use it, don''t look at it, and don''t lose it! I''ll need it later," she instructed with a tone that brooked no argument.


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    Yeso nodded. His expression was serious and focused despite his inability to see. The situation was beyond his understanding, but he knew his role was crucial.


    "Who..." Yeso asked, holding the amber eye carefully.


    "A friend..."


    The Dreamer, now in her human-like form, glanced at Noctavia with a comforting smile. "It will hurt, but we''re going to get through this," she said as gently as possible. She reached under Noctavia''s skirt and finally announced, "Now is a good time to push, mamavida."


    Noctavia''s response was a series of screams, each one filled with the intense effort of childbirth. The sounds reverberated in a strange, fluctuating manner, echoing through the suspended reality where time itself seemed to halt, rewind, and fast-forward unpredictably. Noctavia was doing something utterly new to her, exerting herself in ways she never had before.


    Yeso, blindfolded and unable to see the extraordinary events unfolding, felt the strange, almost tangible shifts in time. These temporal fluctuations brushed against his skin like an intangible breeze while Noctavia''s grip on his fingers tightened, crushing them in her agony.


    "Okay, once more!" the Dreamer encouraged, "You can do this, mamavida!"


    Yeso was tempted, so very tempted, to remove the blindfold and share in Noctavia''s pain, to witness the effort of their child''s birth. But he had promised her, promised to be her strength by not seeing, not feeling her pain. He didn''t need to do anything else but be there, to be her unwavering support.


    "Again!" the Dreamer urged, "Push!"


    With one final, monumental effort, Noctavia pushed again, her scream piercing the eerie temporal void. And then, as if breaking the spell, the cry of a newborn echoed, snapping time back into its natural rhythm.


    The Dreamer gently lifted the child, cradling the newborn in her arms. Tears mingled with laughter as she looked down at the baby. "Oh, Master, you came back! You came back! You return to me..."


    She then carefully placed the baby on Noctavia''s chest, the moment marking the end of a journey and the beginning of another.


    Noctavia, exhausted yet overwhelmed with love, gazed down at the tiny face of her child, her heart swelling with a profound, indescribable love. That until now, she didn''t think it was possible. Beside her, Yeso, still blindfolded, sensed the shift in the air, the arrival of new life, and knew their world had changed forever.


    "It¡¯s a boy..."


    Relief washed over Yeso as he heard those words, a deep exhale escaping his lips. "Can I take off the blindfold now?" he asked, almost begging.


    The Dreamer, her task completed, retrieved her amber eye and swiftly vanished, returning to her original form as a small white mouse. At that same moment, Yeso removed the fabric from his eyes, and the world came back into focus. There before him were Noctavia, weary but radiant, and their newborn son, Orlo Yeso Sternach. However, he will be known to the world as Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune¡ªbut that is a story for a later time.


    The baby, born in a moment outside of time, in a place of power, assisted into the world by two Spirits, was indeed special. Yeso remembered Godmama''s words and knew they had been prescient. This child was destined for greatness.


    "He is so beautiful," Yeso whispered, his voice barely audible in his awe. Gently, he caressed his son''s soft cheek. "He has my eyes."


    But Noctavia, still recovering from the ordeal, noticed something unexpected. "Why does he have red hair?" she asked surprised.


    Faewood was utterly transformed on the following moons, bathed in a sea of golden lilies. The air was sweet, imbued with the taste of honey, and a comforting warmth enveloped everything. The arrival of the winged baby Menschen, Orlo, with his striking red hair, had captivated every faery in the surroundings.


    Orlo, for all the uniqueness of his birth, was much like any other infant. He cried, demanded constant attention, and spent most of his time napping, often curled up in the laps of doting onlookers. Noctavia, in her recovery phase, was cared for tenderly by Yeso, who found himself unable to look away from his son for long.


    Everything around them seemed like a scene from a perfect fairy tale until one day, it was not.


    <blockquote>


    Reflecting on my childhood, the memories of my parents are faint, almost none. I can''t vividly recall their voices or their scent. Yet, certain images remain etched in my mind. I remember the depth in my father''s eyes and the gentle curve of my mother''s smile ¨C these are fragments I cling to like cherished treasures of my childhood. One peculiar memory stands out. I sometimes saw my father blindfolding himself, an act that puzzled me still to this day. It was my godmama who shed light on this mystery. She explained that for a Hexe, blindfolding was to spare the other from pain. For the longest time, I pondered over this. Was it truly the eyes of the Hexe that forged such profound connections? Or was the blindfold merely a placebo, a symbolic gesture with no real power? The answer eluded me until the day I donned the blindfold myself. Until this day, I never removed it and it works. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0040] - Echos of Love

    <blockquote>


    Dois bock mir gut tu!


    Phrase


    Translation: Two jugs of your best [beer]


    Definition: "Dois bock mir gut tu!" is a colloquial expression in Menschen, commonly uttered in taverns and inns when one wishes to partake in the establishment''s finest brew. The phrase blends the conviviality of a casual order with a compliment to the brewer''s skill, implying that the speaker trusts the establishment''s quality. It is a hearty request that reflects the cultural appreciation for good ale and the social bonds formed over shared drinks.


    </blockquote>


    As the end of the moon once again approached, Claramae prepared for her journey to Mir-Sun on her wagon, the nearest town to Faewood. Known for its predominantly human population, Mir-Sun was no stranger to the occasional faerie visitors, like Claramae, who often ventured here only for essential supplies or for the comfort of cold beer.


    On this occasion, her shopping list was unusually specific. She needed gasoline, a staple item for her trips, and this time, clothing was also a priority, especially a pair of sturdy boots, some baby clothing and cloth nappies, a lot of them.


    The recent and abrupt drop in temperature had made her and her sisters'' usual walking barefoot not just uncomfortable but downright impossible.


    Things were changing.


    Within the borders of Faewood, life flourished as always, shielded beneath a protective dome created by Yeso using the Ormstaad. This barrier made of ley lines insulated the faerie community from the harsh, frigid conditions that gripped the world beyond their forest.


    The inhabitants lived in blissful ignorance of the severe cold outside, with only a handful of faeries, Claramae among them, privy to the reality of the situation. Those who ventured beyond the woods required suitable clothing to withstand the chill. And they needed to be prepared in case the Ormstaad ever failed them. After all, Yeso was just a creature like them.


    Their Godmama had explicitly instructed all fairies and fae that the Menschen ¡ª Yeso, Noctavia, and their son Orlo ¡ª were to remain oblivious to these grim developments. She desired for her charges, particularly the young Orlo, to experience the beauty and tranquillity of their first Falls, unmarred by the knowledge of the wintry hardships enveloping the world outside.


    Her intention was to shield them. She was lying out of love; Fall was gone, and Winter was staying for good.


    As the afternoon waned into evening, with her tasks in Mir-Sun complete, Claramae headed straight for a tavern she knew well. Finding a quiet table, she placed her newly acquired supplies beside her and began to drink from a large beer jug.


    The tavern offered a welcome haven from the nipping cold outside. Its warm, inviting atmosphere buzzed with the lively conversations and laughter of its patrons. Within these walls, it seemed the severity of the outside chill was either unknown or willfully ignored.


    Indeed, there''s a peculiar comfort in ignorance, as Ulencia used to tell her.


    Claramae''s distinctly faerie features blended seamlessly into the tavern''s mostly human crowd, drawing little attention ¨C a fact she greatly appreciated. With her brown hair and moth-like wings that subtly merged with her attire, she could easily pass as the girl next door, a regular in the eyes of the tavern''s patrons.


    The people here had grown accustomed to her visits, respecting her space and maintaining a courteous distance. That familiar tranquillity, however, was interrupted when a figure cloaked in a Black Robe made a beeline towards her.


    Exhaling a sigh of exasperation and taking a hefty gulp from her beer, Claramae snapped, "Get lost!"


    "Really?"


    "I mean it ¨C get the fuck lost! You really don''t want to fuck a faerie," she warned, her patience wearing thin.


    "That''s how you greet your friends now, Claramae?" the figure in the Black Robe responded with an amused, almost teasing tone.


    Claramae''s rising anger was stirring her faerie instincts to life. She felt an almost animalistic change taking over, her mouth unnaturally stretching, sharp teeth beginning to emerge from her gums in a visceral response to the frustration boiling within her.


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    "I said get lost, or..." she began, her voice as sharp as the teeth now showing.


    Her warning, however, faltered as the Magi in the Black Robe drew back his hood, revealing his red skin and prominent horns. "Or what? Do you think your little teeth can harm me? Careful, you might end up hurting yourself, chipping a tooth or two," he jested, his familiar grin broadening.


    "How have you been, sweetheart? Still as cranky as ever, I see, or has my absence made your heart grow fonder? You missed me, didn''t you? I mean, who wouldn''t miss this charming tiefling face?"


    "Jaer!" Claramae''s expression transformed from irritation to one of surprise and delight as she recognised the tiefling. She leapt up and wrapped him in a warm embrace. "What brings you here?"


    "Heard the news about my Commander becoming a father... I wanted to see the little guy for myself, and honestly, I''ve been missing that old son of a bitch."


    "Oh yes, he did! The baby is adorable!" Claramae''s voice bubbled with excitement. "Here, sit down, sit! I''m buying the drinks!" She signalled to the barkeeper. "Two jugs of your best and some snacks, please." Settling back into her seat, her spirits evidently lifted, she asked, "So, tell me, how are things with you?"


    A brief pause followed, and Jaer''s expression sobered, a hint of concern flickering across his face. "Well..."


    "It''s bad, isn''t it?" Claramae was quick to note the change in his demeanour, the worry lines etched on his forehead.


    Jaer let out a heavy sigh. "Bad doesn''t even begin to cover it," he admitted. "It''s like we''re living in an actual Nightmare."


    "How serious is the situation?" Claramae inquired, her concern evident as she unconsciously reached out to hold Jaer''s hand between hers. "Is it true... Did our Dame, did she pass away?"


    Jaer nodded somberly. "That''s what everyone''s saying. Veilla died in delivery, and the baby didn''t make it either. And Fiorna..." He hesitated, his voice faltering.


    "What about Fiorna? What happened to her?"


    "It''s hard to say for certain with all the different stories going around," Jaer confessed. "Some claim she threw herself from a window upon hearing of her mother''s death. There are others who believe she was killed by a Lamia, that it tore her head right off."


    "A Lamia?" Claramae''s expression turned to one of bewilderment, the term unfamiliar to her.


    "A Nightmare creature, possibly born from necromancy. I can''t be sure. They''re something new, a disturbing development. These Nightmares have been spreading, proliferating rapidly. They''re not particularly difficult to kill, but their numbers just keep growing. It''s as if the End of Times is banging on our doorstep."


    He reached over, seized Claramae''s jug, and took a long swig, seemingly trying to wash down the weight of his words.


    "You''re here to seek Yeso''s help, then?" Claramae asked, her eyes locked on Jaer, searching for answers.


    "No, not exactly. I''m not here to fight. I''m... I''m done with all that. I don''t have the strength to start over again. I just came to see an old friend, and... then I plan to head to Pollux," Jaer replied, "I just wanted to let Yeso know where he can find me if he needs to."


    Claramae''s response was a quiet sigh of understanding and sadness. She realised Jaer was accepting the Elven King''s invitation, a significant decision marking a new chapter and perhaps an end to an old one.


    "This isn''t about heroes stepping up to save the day; it''s about finding refuge with the people we love, hoping we can weather the storm. We''re not facing a war where there''s a chance to fight and survive. This... this is something else. I''m not sure we stand a chance unless..."


    Claramae absorbed and then asked about their mutual friends, "What''s the status with Redfred, Muru, and Mediah?"


    "Redfred and Muru were last seen in Whitestone. They''re likely more informed about the current state of affairs than we are," Jaer responded. "As for Mediah... he''s just being himself." His words were punctuated by a brief, wistful chuckle, a fleeting respite from the otherwise heavy dialogue.


    Curious, Claramae pressed on. "What exactly do you mean by that?"


    "He''s gone to Keblurg."


    "Why?"


    Jaer''s expression grew sombre. "Like I mentioned, in these times, it''s about being with those you love."


    "You mean Ulencia?" Claramae suddenly made the connection, recalling the past between them. "But didn''t she marry someone else?"


    "Yes, she did. Xendrix. You remember the human, right?" Jaer confirmed with a nod. "But Mediah... well, he''s always followed his own path. And..."


    "And what?"


    Jaer leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "I have this feeling that we haven''t seen the last of Mediah''s impact. There''s something brewing with him, something significant. I can''t put my finger on it, but I think we''re going to hear a lot more about him, perhaps in ways we can''t even imagine right now. And I think¡­. I think is because of that boy I am not able to go to Pollux yet. Is a strange saatgut feeling."


    Claramae chuckled lightly, "Other than his habit of never knocking on doors, I have no idea what to expect from him."


    "That''s just it," Jaer said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mediah does Mediah. Always unpredictable, always on his own terms and never knocks the damn door."


    <blockquote>


    In the early stages of compiling my memoirs, I discovered that firsthand accounts of the first Winter were inconsistent. None could specify the moon, even less the day it all started. This Winter spread happened gradually across the land, its impact varying in intensity. Faewood, for instance, remained shielded from its worst effects for many Winters, thanks to its protective doom. However, places like Keblurg, Spyles, and Moonbay were not as fortunate, suffering greatly from this cataclysm. The broader implications of this event became apparent to the nations on the Mir-Grande-Carta map only after the death of my parents. It was a pivotal moment that marked a shift in awareness. Historical records state that Fiona Mageschstea''s reign lasted forty-four winters, a duration that, in my view, was too long. It was too long for everyone who can still remember it. Too long. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0041] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Blut es tu, mir blut es


    Phrase


    Translation: The Blood you bleed is the blood you own!


    Definition: This Menschen saying embodies the acceptance of one''s inherent nature and destiny, symbolized through the metaphor of blood, whether it be red, blue, green, or stone. The phrase emphasizes the inevitability and ownership of one''s true self, irrespective of its form or colour.


    </blockquote>


    Mediah awoke to the blare of trumpets heralding the dawn in Keblurg. He could feel a strong aroma of lilac and cinnamon, which seemed to permeate the room. He turned his head, still groggy, and noticed beside him lay two women, their elfin naked bodies entwined in slumber¡ªor so it appeared.


    Mediah gently placed two fingers on one woman''s neck, feeling the reassuring throb of her pulse. As an incubus, his magic, though powerful, was draining to wield, and replenishing it was a necessity often fraught with moral ambiguity.


    The quickest and most efficient means to restore his strength was through sex, an act that invariably provided him a bed to rest, especially during these bitterly cold nights. And to be honest, it was undeniably fun.


    "Good morning," one of the elves beside him greeted, turning to face him as she casually intertwined her leg with his. "Did you Enjoy yourself last night?"


    "It was satisfactory," Mediah responded, attempting to disentangle himself from her gently, "but I really must be going now."


    "We could have a bit more fun," she suggested flirtatiously.


    "Unfortunately, I''m a bit short on funds," Mediah replied, lifting his upper body in an effort to leave the bed.


    "Why don''t we see if she''s up for another round?" the elf said, turning to nudge her friend. "Hey!" she called, trying to rouse the sleeping elf. She shook her again. "Come on, Nadia, wake up. Nadia?"


    Mediah''s heart rate spiked, sensing something amiss. He quickly placed two fingers on the girl''s neck. There was a pulse, but it was faint. "Damn it!" he cursed.


    The Magi¡¯s eyes narrowed as he noticed the vivid red lips of the elf lying beside him. Gently, he brushed his thumb across her lips, hoping it was just makeup, but the colour didn''t budge, and it confirmed his worst fears ¨C this was an elf with red blood.


    Swiftly, he turned the elf onto her back and began emergency procedures, breathing into her mouth in an attempt to revive her. He placed his hands on her chest, pressing rhythmically, counting to three with each compression, before returning to administer another breath.


    The other elf, witnessing this frantic scene, asked in a near-panic. "What is happening to her?"


    Mediah responded, holding his anger, "Your friend has red blood. It''s a fucking miracle she''s even still breathing!"


    "Did you kill her?"


    Frustration creased Mediah''s brow as he replied, "I specifically requested elves with green blood. Did you not think for a second what would happen if an incubus like me drained energy from a human?"


    "Is she...?"


    The tension was abruptly cut short by a loud, gasping inhale from Nadia. Mediah, upon seeing the first elf start to breathe again, quickly gathered his clothes. With a stern expression, he extended his hand towards the girls.


    "What?" the second elf asked.


    "Refund," Mediah demanded bluntly.


    "You''re joking?"


    "No joke," Mediah retorted. "Consider it a lesson not to meddle with the wrong crowd beyond your understanding. Return the coins I spent on you girls now, or I''ll have a word with your boss downstairs about what just happened here. And trust me, your friend won''t just be losing her job over this; you girls will be put out in the cold. So..." He stared at her intently, his fingers making a beckoning motion. "Give me back my coins. Blut es tu, mir blut es!"


    Soon enough, Mediah was out of the brothel pocket filled with coins and joined the queue in front of the castle gates, which seemed infinite, a diverse procession of creatures from every corner of the map, each drawn to witness the grand coronation. Mediah, with limited options, resigned himself to the slow march towards the castle''s entrance. He shifted uncomfortably, struggling to maintain his composure as the icy ground bit into his bare feet.


    The Kingdom buzzed with a multitude of rumours regarding King Ieagan Kaspian''s death. Every creature in the vicinity seemed to have its own version of the tale, each iteration more elaborate than the last one with plots and conspiracy theories. No one knew the real truth.


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    Ultimately, amidst the swirl of hearsay, one fact was clear and straightforward: King Ieagan Kaspian had died, leaving his son Xendrix as the sole heir to the throne.


    Yet, Mediah''s presence in Keblurg was not to witness the ascent of the little fat boy he met at Yeso¡¯s settlement. His purpose was far more personal ¨C he came for Ulencia.


    Haunting in his mind was her question still: could a handful of Magis stand against an army of a thousand humans?


    After much ruminating, calculation, and strategy, Mediah believed he had formulated an answer. It was still theoretical, yet it was very close to being accomplishable.


    More importantly, he realized he could shield her from whatever malevolent force she was running away from that day in her tent. He wanted, and now he could protect her. It was as simple as that, but soon, he would learn that in this world, nothing was truly that simple.


    As he glanced around, Mediah couldn''t help but notice he was the only Magi around. Clad in a black robe, he stood out in the crowd; it was unusual, given that Magis were typically summoned for such significant events.


    He would have expected to see familiar faces like Yeso, Jaer, or even Redfred ¨C although the idea of the latter made Mediah smirk slightly, recalling how Redfred relished critiquing everyone and everything.


    As dusk began to blanket the sky, Mediah finally approached the guards at the entrance.


    "Name?" one of the guards asked while he held a pen and a clipboard.


    "Mediah."


    "I asked for your name," the guard said, sounding slightly irritated.


    Mediah, maintaining his composure, repeated, "Mediah."


    "Mediah?"


    "M-E-D-I-A-H," Mediah spelt out, frustrated.


    "Very funny, son. Your last name?" the guard persisted.


    "It''s just Mediah." the Magi shrugged, not understanding why the insistence, and repeated, "M-E-D-I-A-H!"


    "Mediah, the Nameless," the guard stated, almost mockingly, writing it down.


    For the first time, Mediah truly felt the sting of being a halfling, a child abandoned by his father while his human mother died in labour, probably drained of life force because of him.


    "You''re clear. Get inside," the guard dismissed Mediah with a wave, quickly turning his attention to the next in line. "Name?"


    Mediah stepped through the gates. His eyes widened as he took in the scene: elegantly dressed nobles and dignitaries filled the hall, their extravagant outfits consuming the space. Women in gowns that sprawled across the floor, men in their finest fur coats, a ravishing display of wealth and status.


    The diversity of the crowd was striking. Elfs mingled with humans, a few Orcs stood out with their leather gear and metal adornments, and he even caught a glimpse of a centaur in his peripheral vision. The variety of races and cultures gathered for the coronation was a sample of what the Great Continent had to offer.


    However, his sole focus was finding Ulencia. He manoeuvred through the mass of people, scanning the room for any sign of her. The buzz of conversation, laughter, and music filled the air, but Mediah''s mind was singularly fixed on his quest to locate the one person who mattered the most to him, the one who got away.


    Mediah''s search for Ulencia was abruptly halted by the booming voice of a herald, resonating through the grand hall. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Distinguished Guests and Loyal Subjects of the Kingdom," he announced, "It is with profound honour and a deep sense of duty that I stand before you today to proclaim the forthcoming coronation of our esteemed monarch, Xendrix Kaspian, the First."


    Mediah was taken aback to see that the Herald, contrary to expectation, was a young dwarf dressed in the opulent, traditional garb of Keblurg but probably native from Skoe Scana. Perched atop a tall stool to assert his presence, he positioned himself confidently at the centre of the room. With a flourish that matched the gravity of the occasion, he carefully unfurled a ceremonial scroll, ready to announce the day''s proceedings.


    "The ceremonial procession will commence," he read aloud. "Adhering to the age-old customs of our ancestors, the King and only Ruler will embark on a sacred journey from the Royal Residence to the Cathedral of our Holy Mother, accompanied by the illustrious members of the Court and the esteemed Knights of the Realm."


    The Herald''s voice echoed through the hall as he continued to recite. "Upon arrival at the hallowed grounds of the Cathedral, a solemn and majestic coronation ceremony will take place. The highest dignitaries of the land and representatives of foreign states will bear witness as the crown is placed upon the sovereign''s head."


    After another brief pause, during which the dwarf subtly adjusted the scroll and cleared his throat discreetly, he resumed, "Following the coronation, a grand banquet will be held in the Great Hall of the Palace. As night falls, the Royal Ball shall commence."


    The Herald briefly stumbled over his words, shifting the scroll as if searching for his place, and coughed once or twice before continuing.


    "We invite all to partake in these celebrations, to witness the dawn of a new era under the wise and just rule of our new King. May this coronation herald a future filled with peace, prosperity, and the continued glory of our kingdom, Keblurg. Long live the King!"


    "Long live the King!" echoed the crowd.


    As soon as the Herald concluded his speech, he swiftly rolled up the scroll and carried the stool away with him. The crowd, now stirred by the announcement, began to move in what Mediah assumed was the direction of the Cathedral. A wave of annoyance washed over him as he realized the night ahead would likely be long and tedious. Amidst the slow-moving throng and the grandiose preparations, there was still no sign of Ulencia. Where could she be?


    The question lingered in his mind, but when he turned his head, he saw someone else¡ªher¡ªa beautiful elf with long purple hair, black eyes like the night and a silver necklace around her neck in the shape of a web.


    She was intriguing, beautiful, and enticing, and yet she smelled like death.


    <blockquote>


    I still reflect on the evolving challenge of distinguishing a Lamia from ordinary creatures. Over time, these Nightmares have developed an alarming ability to seamlessly blend into any crowd. They can speak, act, and even eat like us, becoming virtually indistinguishable from ordinary individuals. This, to me, is profoundly disturbing. One telltale sign used to be the Lamia''s unavoidable odour, a pungent mix of garlic and cabbage akin to the scent of death. In the past, this distinctive smell made them easier to identify. I wish I could say that it''s the same today, more than five hundred Summer after their first appearance, that a keen sense of smell is all that''s needed for detection. However, things have significantly changed. The advent of perfumes, lotions, and essential oils that effectively mask their unique scent has made identifying Lamias even more challenging and dangerous. It''s akin to battling an invisible enemy, one that constantly adapts and conceals its true nature. I am ashamed to confess that there are days I look at my classroom full of faces and I wonder which one is it? Which one has black blood? ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0042] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Lamia


    Noun


    Translation: Nightmare


    Definition: "Lamia" signifies not only a typical nightmare but also a creature born from necromancy. These humanoid creatures are characterized by their six eyes and shapeshifting abilities, making them elusive and terrifying. Lamias possess the chilling power to delve into an individual''s memories, manipulating and twisting them to their advantage. They are known to feed on blood, adding to their nightmarish and predatory nature. The existence of Lamias is often tied to tales of horror and caution, as they embody the physical manifestation of one''s darkest fears and the corruptive potential of forbidden magic. However, they are very real.


    </blockquote>


    As the crowd filtered into the cathedral, Mediah and the enigmatic elf lingered outside amidst the other half of the guests, who seemed equally indifferent to the ceremony inside. The air around them was heavy with incense and the earthy scent of the gathered masses, yet Mediah found himself inexplicably drawn to the elf and something else. Something he could smell.


    His eyes lingered on her, tracing the contours of her face until she finally caught him staring.


    "You don''t seem like the religious type," she teased.


    "Neither do you," he retorted, his gaze briefly flicking to the unique necklace adorning her neck. "Or is that some kind of new cult fashion I''m unaware of?"


    She lightly touched her necklace, a silver web glinting in the candlelight, and smirked. "I see we both have strong opinions," she replied, her eyes meeting his with an intriguing intensity. "I like that."


    "My friends would say I''m too opinionated for my own good. In other words, I never shut up when I should," he quipped, a slight smirk playing on his lips.


    "I like that, too. Silence is boring, overrated."


    "Who was it that said... let me think, oh! ''Words are silver, but silence is gold''?"


    "Someone who clearly doesn''t understand the dynamics of communication and transaction," she replied quickly. "The value of words often surpasses that of coin, determined not by inherent worth but by the impact they have and the demand they create."


    Mediah couldn''t help but be intrigued. Her presence was an enigma, much like the unusual necklace she wore ¨C out of place yet undeniably captivating. Just like a coin.


    The elf moved a few steps closer, her morbid scent intensifying with each stride. "Words have a value that can be measured by what people will exchange for them¡ªinformation, intel, secrets¡ªand by the eagerness with which they seek them. What meaningful creation ever emerged without thoughtful dialogue? The mere coin isn''t always sufficient."


    "I see you enjoy engaging in stimulating conversation," he observed, subtly tilting his head to lessen the impact of her potent smell and mumbled. ¡°Some people never get the meaning of the coin.¡±


    "Like any curious person, I suppose," she responded, turning to face him fully. She caught a hint of his unease. "You''re not accustomed to having deep conversations with women?"


    "Oh, I am... Quite frequently, actually. It''s just that..." Mediah trailed off, searching for the right words.


    "Am I that repulsive? Is my appearance so unwelcome to you?" she asked with a hint of mock offence, a playful twinkle in her eye.


    Mediah, steadying himself against the overpowering scent, decided to address the elephant in the room. "Are you a mortician by any chance? You smell like¡­"


    Her face registered surprise at his blunt question, followed by a quick, almost subconscious action where she sniffed her hands as if to confirm the scent he mentioned. "I see a girl can''t keep secrets from you," she responded with a wry smile, extending her hand.


    "I''m Zvoya, and yes, in a manner of speaking, I deal with death. You could call me a mortician or someone who tends to the aftermath of death. And you? Are you some sort of... pleasure provider, a rent boy? You carry the smell of sex."


    Mediah took her hand, his grip firm but devoid of any usual flirtatious gestures. As their hands connected, he felt her potent sexual energy surge through him, unsettling in its intensity. He was not surprised. He knew the effect he had on the opposite sex and sometimes on men, too. After all, he was an Amoernt feeding on emotion.


    Despite her alluring looks and the lively spark in her conversation, Mediah could sense that Zvoya was aroused, brought to nought and was way more than she appeared. There was a depth, a hidden layer beneath her casual admittance and light-hearted banter.


    "I spend more time and coin on that subject... than I actually earn," Mediah quipped, smoothly playing along with her teasing.


    "You must not be very good at bargaining then," Zvoya shot back with a playful grin. "Given your looks and charisma, I''d imagine you''d be quite the successful rent boy. Definitely sounds more appealing than my daily chats with the dead."


    "I can''t disagree with you there," Mediah responded, his smirk mirroring hers.


    "So, you''re a Magi, aren''t you? And it seems you''re the only one around," she noted, her gaze sweeping across the crowd.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Seems like it," Mediah acknowledged, "but my presence here is more... personal. I''m looking for a friend."


    "A friend?"


    "Yes, a friend," he confirmed, eyes scanning the crowd over his shoulder.


    As the bells of the cathedral rang over the Castle, Zvoya''s smirk reappeared as she glanced around. "Seems the ceremonial part is done."


    "I could do with something to eat," Mediah suggested, heading towards the banquet hall with Zvoya following. As they walked, he couldn''t help but look over his shoulder, searching for Ulencia. Despite his efforts, nothing.


    As they entered the banquet hall, Mediah and Zvoya were lucky to secure a spot at one of the tables, just ahead of the throng of guests that followed. The hall was alive with noise ¨C a blend of boisterous laughter, animated conversations, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional slurred words from a guest who had indulged a bit too much.


    From his seat at the table, Mediah had a clear view of Xendrix, the newly crowned King of Keblurg. The transformation in the King was stark and undeniable. Xendrix appeared to have shed a considerable amount of weight, and his face showed signs of premature ageing, making him look almost a decade older than he actually was. Dark circles under his eyes and strands of white hair at his temples.


    Mediah speculated whether the loss of his father had taken such a toll on the young King. Despite his tired appearance, Xendrix participated in the festivities with an energy that belied his looks, engaging in laughter, feasting, and drinking with a zeal that seemed genuine.


    Beside the King stood a mysterious figure, wholly enshrouded in white, her features hidden behind a veil of opaque tulle. Mediah found his attention irresistibly drawn. There was a certain detachment about her; she seemed aloof from the festive atmosphere, not partaking in the feast or joining in the laughter that filled the room.


    Mediah''s intense gaze on this figure did not go unnoticed by Zvoya, who asked, "Is that your friend?"


    His train of thought interrupted, Mediah turned towards her, slightly taken aback. "What?"


    "The queen? The woman in white, standing next to the King. Is she the friend you''re searching for?"


    "I''m not certain," Mediah answered.


    The identity of the veiled figure was still a mystery to him. Yet, there was something in her posture, a certain poise that struck a familiar chord in Mediah, kindling a hope that it might indeed be Ulencia.


    As if sensing his gaze, the veiled figure abruptly stood and began to move away from the banquet. Without a moment''s hesitation and without excusing himself, Mediah quickly followed the white silhouette. The corridors were unusually deserted, and her pace was brisk. "Wait!" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty hallway.


    She stopped and turned towards him, the veil still obscuring her features. "What are you doing here?"


    A broad smile spread across Mediah''s face; it was indeed her. He would recognize Ulencia''s voice anywhere. "I missed you."


    She stepped towards him, and in a moment, they were almost nose to nose. The sudden impact of her hand against his cheek, amplified by the echoing slap, took him by surprise.


    "Why are you here?"


    Rubbing his cheek, Mediah replied with a hint of humour despite the sting, "I''m not sure if I should answer, considering your strong grip."


    "Go away, Mediah. Return to the District Trial or anywhere else on the Map! The Red Sea even! I don¡¯t care! Just disappear from here! And never come back!" Ulencia yelled.


    "What did I do?" he asked, genuinely confused.


    "Just go away!" she insisted, turning to leave. But Mediah reached out, gently grasping her hand.


    "Please, Ulencia, whatever I did or said, I''m sorry. I... I came because you once asked me a question, and now I have the answer. I wanted to..."


    "I had to burn, shred or whatever, any invitation to any Magis to protect my people. Please, leave!" she pleaded, her voice trembling, "Please!"


    "Your people? I thought we were your people... too." Mediah''s words were grave with disappointment.


    "No! You don¡¯t understand. I protect my people, you and the others. You, Mediah, and the others are my only people. But you have no idea what''s happening here. Xendrix, he... he..." Ulencia''s voice broke off, and her body shook. Fear. Mediah could feed the fear coming through her skin and quickly release her grasp.


    "Ulencia, Ule... you''re scaring me. What''s happening?" Mediah attempted to draw her closer, but she pushed him away with a force that betrayed her turmoil.


    "He''s become a monster. It''s far worse than anything you can imagine. It''s all been an act. You don''t understand the danger, Mediah. Nobody can stop him, not even Yeso or Noctavia. We''re all in danger!" Her words tumbled out, laced with tears and the panic of someone on the verge of breaking down.


    Ignoring her resistance, Mediah pulled her into his embrace, trying to calm her. "Breathe, Ulencia, please breathe, I''m here now. We''ll find a way to make things right, okay?"


    "It''s too late for that," she whispered.


    "Ule..." Mediah¡¯s words were soft as he rubbed the back of her neck covered by the veil. He could feel her filled with pain and fear, almost fed on it.


    "We''ll find a way through this," he assured her, "I''m here with you now."


    "I''m pregnant. He... he got his way, he made me... I didn¡¯t have any choice," Her voice trailed off, choked with grief. "I had no choice... I... I don''t want it! I don''t want to carry the seed of a monster! I don''t want it! I want it out!"


    Mediah''s heart sank at her revelation. Gently loosening his hold, he reached up to lift her veil to dry her tears, but he couldn''t expect what he saw.


    Menschen, renowned for their blue blood, possess a unique physiology where their blood is made of raw magic. This magical disposition grants them immunity to sickness and ageing.


    Even half-Menschen share this extraordinary trait, their blood infused with the same magical properties. Yet, Ulencia, standing before Mediah, appeared strikingly human in her current state. Signs of physical wear were evident on her face ¨C wrinkles creased on her forehead and around the corners of her mouth.


    One of her normally vivid blue eyes had turned grey and opaque, suggesting a loss of vision, and three of her front teeth were missing.


    Visible bruises marred her neck, including two puncture marks, as if she had been bitten, and evidence of physical abuse.


    Mediah, taking in the extent of her injuries, asked, almost numb from all the emotional turmoil he was feeling, "What the fuck, is he doing to you?"


    <blockquote>


    Throughout my career, I have attempted to heal victims of Lamia attacks, each case presenting a distressing sight. The symptoms vary significantly depending on the victim''s blood type. One particularly poignant case involved a young elf brought to my office. He was almost dying. He was naturally pale, but on that day, he was a shade paler, with two puncture wounds on his neck. As I treated him, I observed a rapid and startling transformation. His hair lost its characteristic lustre, fine lines etched themselves around his eyes and mouth, and his gaze became empty, devoid of the spark-like, almost as if they were dead. I feared for my own safety that he might turn into a Lamia in my own office, but instead, something unexpected happened: he became human. His blood changed to red, and with that, he lost his connection to magic, to whatever made him an elf. This phenomenon added more complication to the already agonising mystery of how certain creatures suddenly possess red blood, like Maggie. This discovery was truly unsettling, prompting me to ponder the larger implications. It made me wonder if there''s a greater force at play, perhaps orchestrating our existences to conclude earlier than naturally intended. I don''t believe in gods, but it would be easier to explain all of this if I did. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0043] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Ja, es tu!


    Phrase


    Translation: Now, do it!


    Definition: "Ja, es tu!" is an imperative phrase in Menschen, emphasizing the need for immediate action. "Ja" is used here to convey a sense of urgency, akin to saying "Now," while "es tu" is a direct command to "do it."


    </blockquote>


    "Does it matter?" Ulencia stepped back from his embrace, resignation in her demeanour, "It''s too late and for sure is too late for me."


    Mediah stood there, momentarily at a loss for words. His desire to ease her pain, to lift the heavy burden that seemed to crush her spirit, but it was too real. "Do you remember the question you asked me when you were leaving?"


    Ulencia shook her head, "I... no, I don''t recall."


    "You asked if we could stand against a thousand men if we stood a chance."


    "And has the answer changed?" she asked.


    "Back then, no. But now, my outlook has shifted. If we had the right weapon, we could annihilate them. It''s all about having the right tool," he explained. "I''ve conceptualized a weapon. I regret not bringing the designs with me ¡ª I sometimes have the brain of a fucking fish. Damn it... But anyway, never mind, continuing, I''ve named them the Ulencia swords."


    Mediah''s hands danced through the air as he outlined the concept. "Swords that are chained to your wrists, allowing you to spin them around, forming a shield while simultaneously attacking anyone who dares come close. And your hands," he continued, gesturing his fingers with a flourish, "would be free to weave whatever magic is necessary."


    Ulencia''s face remained impassive, but her good eye betrayed her interest, soaking in every detail.


    "Two Magis would guard each other. That''s all it would take," Mediah clarified, a hopeful smile touching his lips. "That''s been my vision since your leave... to protect you... to give you a sense of safety. I can do that now. We only need two Magis to defeat a thousand men or more."


    "But it''s not enough," Ulencia responded, her voice flat, devoid of the hope that had momentarily flickered in her eye, "It''s too late for me. However, it''s a start."


    "Ule..." Mediah reached out. "It''s never too late. This... us, working together, it''s a beginning. A way to fight back, to reclaim some control. I refuse to give up on you, on us. Let''s start with this idea and see where it leads. Together." And finally, he pleaded, "Come with me. Come with me anywhere. Anywhere you want."


    "I need you to head to the Trial District. I want you to mentor and teach the new generation of Magis. Cast aside the notions of honour and tradition. Because we don''t need heroes! We need battlemages! We need warriors trained at fighting shadows. They''ve infiltrated us ¨C adopting our forms, mimicking our behaviours, becoming unnoticeable from us," she warned, her voice carrying a premonition of darker times ahead. "They breathe, and they live among us as what we most yearn and desire. They know us."


    "Ule..."


    "We need a leader, a Commander, but not like Yeso. Despite my love and respect for him and Noctavia, we need a warlord, a sun ¨C one that doesn''t vanish at night but rather scorches every shadow, every Nightmare haunting our lands, seas, and skies. They must be burned until nothing is left. Only then, maybe, we might stand a chance."


    "What are you implying?" Mediah asked. Was she referring to the incidents with the fleets? It couldn''t be because they were wiped by the merefolks. Weren¡¯t they?


    "Sooner or later, you''ll understand... you''ll see the full extent. I know you can see besides what meets the eye. But it is not enough; nothing we have right now is enough. Forge a new army of Magis... please." she insisted with the most broken voice he had ever heard.


    She stepped closer to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodbye, Mediah. I must rest now¡­ in peace. I hope you can forgive me." With those words, she drifted away, her figure fading into the shadows like a spectre retreating into the night. A ghost who didn''t hear the Mediah¡¯s pledge that one day he¡¯d build an army that could cast away all of her nightmares.


    Mediah often found himself reflecting on this pivotal moment when he had vowed to raise an army, an army of battlemages. It was a promise that would echo in his mind through many trials and tribulations.


    Ironically, the first question asked to him by the Summerqueen when he finally met her was: "Where is my army?"


    In the meantime, Ulencia slipped away from the echoes of celebration, knowing all too well that her husband, King Xendrix, was too much preoccupied with his ego-inflating with each toast and cheer from the inebriated crowd until it swelled too large to be contained within the grand halls. She had an opportunity now, a brief window to claim a small but significant victory from his grasp. This thought alone brought her a fleeting sense of peace.


    As she made her way to the royal quarters, her steps took her past a room that once belonged to Iegan Kaspian. A low growl, the scraping of claws against the door, reached her ears. The air was tainted with the pungent stench of rotten cabbage and garlic ¨C the unmistakable scent of death.


    Finally, Ulencia arrived at the door to her personal chamber. Closing it behind her, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. The brief encounter with Mediah had stirred emotions she struggled to suppress. In his gaze, she had almost convinced herself she saw a glimmer of love. But she quickly dismissed it as a delusion, perhaps a mental trick to dissuade her from the path she was about to tread.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She gently removed the veil from her head, followed by the layer that served as a vest. Sitting before her mirror, Ulencia gazed at her reflection, confronting a stranger in the glass. She barely recognized herself, feeling as though she had become an extension of the very monster Xendrix was ¨C a cultivator of Nightmares, a puppeteer of the undead. Doubt crept into her mind, making her question if her once blue, magical blood had turned mortal.


    Xendrix had drained so much from her, not just her blood and her teeth but anything that made her a living creature, someone with willpower¡ªeverything was gone now; she was a shell from her previous self. She realized with a heavy heart that she had been nothing more than a mere ingredient in his perverse and dark alchemy. If only Yeso knew the truth... but then, what would he do? Yeso, with his gentle soul and wisdom, lacked the iron fist needed to crush enemies. His time of diplomacy and words had passed; now, if there was any hope, it lay in swords and strength, tools Yeso didn''t want to possess.


    But Ulencia had none of those either. All she had was her body, a vessel carrying the future lineage of the Kaspian line. Desperation had driven her to try roots, poisons, and even mushrooms, but nothing worked. The unwanted life within her continued to thrive, consuming her from the inside. Resigned and determined, Ulencia steeled herself. She was ready to take whatever steps necessary, to do whatever it took to end this Nightmare. The reflection in the mirror showed a woman changed, hardened by her harrowing experiences but not defeated¡ªnot yet. She would do what needed to be done.


    The knock at the door cut through the chaos of her thoughts. "Who is it?" Ulencia asked with caution but almost stammering.


    "It''s me, Ule, Mediah", his familiar voice resonated from the other side.


    "Mediah?" Her heart fluttered unexpectedly at the sound of his name.


    "Let me in," he implored with a tone that bordered on pleading. "Please?"


    "We''ve already said everything that needed to be said. There''s nothing left."


    "We don''t need words; we never really relied on them," he said in a light, teasing manner, trying to sway her, "We could once again not use them."


    "I see," she replied evenly, her expression unreadable as she discreetly retrieved a pair of scissors from a drawer and slipped them under her sleeve.


    "Just let me in, Ule, please," Mediah urged, "I don''t want to... leave like this."


    Facing the door, Ulencia gripped the scissors hidden in her sleeve and conjured a cynical smile. "Come in," she said, feigning a welcome.


    As the door creaked open, Mediah stepped inside with a cautious curiosity. "This is your room?" he asked, looking around.


    "Yes."


    "I thought, as king and queen, husband and wife, you''d share the same room," he remarked. His demeanour was typically awkward. "It''s quite lovely, though."


    "Royals often have their own ways," Ulencia noted, her words edged with sarcasm, "I''m glad it meets your approval."


    "I would never want you to sleep alone," he said, enticing.


    "We wouldn''t spend much time sleeping, would we?"


    "Probably not," he agreed with a smile playing on his lips.


    "So, is that why you''re here? Couldn''t stay away?" she asked with sarcasm, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.


    "No, I actually have a mission to escort you back to the banquet hall. People are asking about you, and who wouldn''t want their queen nearby?" he said with a charming smile, extending his hand.


    Ulencia rose from her chair but ignored his hand, her smile widening but not touching the turmoil hidden deep within. "I''m intrigued..."


    "About what?" Mediah asked, his gaze intent on her, oblivious to the storm of emotions beneath her calm facade.


    "About you..." Ulencia said as she circled around him, her voice laced with suspicion. "You can mimic everything to perfection ¨C the voice, the demeanour, even the memories. But you can''t know what he doesn''t know."


    The playful, flirty smile on Mediah''s face quickly morphed into an expression of disdain.


    "You see... Mediah... he is the cool kid of the block, but¡­ he never knocked on the door," Ulencia stated, her words deliberate. As the last syllable left her lips, she lunged forward, plunging the scissors into the Nightmare''s eye. But it wasn''t enough. The creature reacted swiftly, grasping her neck and slamming her against the wall with brutal force.


    "They are waiting for you downstairs, your highness. You should be next to your husband, celebrating!" the creature hissed, its face morphing grotesquely as six additional eyes sprouted across its visage, "Not rubbing your loins to a lowlife!"


    "What are you going to do? Kill me?" Ulencia spat back, defiance burning in her eyes despite the creature''s hold.


    "You have no idea how much I am tempted!" the Nightmare retorted, its voice a sinister echo in the chamber.


    "Ja! Es tu!!" Ulencia defiantly challenged the creature, ¡°Come on! Es tu!¡±


    With a deep, guttural growl, the creature abruptly released her. Ulencia collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.


    "Get ready! They are waiting for you," it snarled, its attention momentarily diverted.


    Seizing the moment, Ulencia mustered all her strength and courage. She charged at the creature, the intensity of her assault propelling them both through the window. Glass fragmented into countless shards as they descended from the eighth floor, plummeting towards the royal garden.


    Ulencia''s body landed with a heavy thud onto a bush of roses. The soft petals and thorny stems provided an illusionary cushion. It didn¡¯t absorb enough of the impact of her fall, but it was a quick, painless death. As if a queen fell asleep over a bed made of flowers.


    The creature, however, met the ground with a grotesque crunch, its body crumpling like a broken twig. But the Nightmare''s defeat was fleeting. Within moments, it began to reconstruct itself, bones and flesh knitting together into a coherent form.


    It fixed its gaze on Ulencia, who lay amidst the roses. Her body appeared broken, a tragic contrast to the surrounding vibrant flora. There, amidst the bed of roses, Ulencia finally found her peace. Yet, unbeknownst to her, the seed she carried within ¨C a royal prince ¨C still pulsed in her lifeless form.


    "Fuck," the creature cursed under its breath. It scanned the area quickly, ensuring no witnesses to its debacle. Then, turning back to Ulencia, it hoisted her limp body over its shoulder and scaled the walls with spider-like agility, returning to the shattered window.


    Once inside, it carefully laid Ulencia on the bed, covering her with a sheet. She would be tomorrow''s problem.


    The night was far from over, and nothing was going to interrupt the celebration of its Master. The creature vanished into the shadows, leaving behind the eerie silence of the room and the gentle flap of a glowing butterfly above Ulencia¡¯s lips.


    <blockquote>


    As I pen these lines, I am anticipating the arrival of a unique specimen. It''s an adult orc that has undergone transformation into a Lamia of Type Two. This particular specimen has black blood and possesses no memory of its life prior to the transformation. Notably, Type Two Lamias are incapable of reproduction or transmitting their condition to others.


    I''ve meticulously prepared its containment area, which includes a tank that will be filled with dimethyl sulfoxide. The laboratory is designed to ensure maximum safety: it''s devoid of windows and secured with a double steel door to prevent any risk of contamination. One concern that weighs on my mind is whether the creature has retained the physical strength characteristic of orcs. Given my own short stature, I''m not well-equipped to physically contend with such strength. But well, as Zora used to say, ¡°You¡¯re short better run fast!¡± ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0044] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Nur um poken


    Phrase


    Translation: Just a little bit


    Definition: "Nur um poken" is a concise phrase used to request or indicate a small amount. The phrase is often used in everyday situations where only a slight degree or quantity is needed, reflecting the practicality and straightforwardness valued in Menschen interactions.


    </blockquote>


    Mediah wove his way back through the lively, bustling banquet, the air thick with merriment, loud laughter, savoury grease and too much ale.


    It was a stark contrast between the spirited halls and the turmoil churning within him, almost agonising. As he navigated through the crowd, he debated internally whether to reclaim his seat next to Zvoya or simply leave the festivities. No one would notice him leaving.


    However, the biting cold outside and the prospect of free food ultimately swayed his decision, and he didn''t believe he would be welcome back into the brothel for another night.


    Upon his return, Zvoya observed him closely with her sharp, dark eyes and elven senses as he settled back into his seat beside her. Her gaze methodically inspected him, moving from his head to his toes and back again as if she were trying to read a story etched in his movements and expressions.


    "I take it your conversation didn''t unfold as you had hoped," she commented.


    Mediah let out a long, weary sigh, the weight of his conversation with Ulencia still troubling him. "No, it didn''t go well," he confessed, avoiding Zvoya''s penetrating gaze. His attention drifted to a piece of bread in front of him, which he absentmindedly started to shred, his fingers working almost mechanically to reduce it to crumbs.


    Seeking to lighten the mood and perhaps offer a distraction from his woes, Zvoya playfully prodded him. "You know, chasing after a married woman is rarely a wise move," she remarked with a hint of teasing in her voice. "There are plenty of single ladies around who wouldn''t mind sharing a bed, or perhaps even something else, somewhere else¡­. it''s a matter of will and improvisation, I guess."


    "I suppose there are," he muttered, his mind clearly elsewhere, and he was not in the mood to respond to her clear advances.


    Zvoya added more seriously, "Praying and hoping for unrequited love is never a good idea, darling. It only leads to heartache."


    "I guess does," he replied, but the words were simply devoided, laden instead with a shadow of defeat that seemed to cling to him. But ultimately, it was Ulencia''s choice. What else could he do?


    Zvoya could see the extent of his inner struggle by the lines etched on his forehead. "These feelings, they''ll eventually fade away. They say time heals all wounds though I do wonder if that''s truly the case... Carrying a broken heart is a heavy burden, isn''t it?"


    "I suppose... I think I''m just grappling with the fallout of my own choices. I''m just here wondering if there is something I could have done or said differently," Mediah replied; he managed a weak chuckle, a faint attempt to ease himself.


    Zvoya''s hand gently rested on his knee, a not-so-subtle gesture of comfort. "If it''s any consolation, she''s in capable hands," she offered reassuringly, her touch lingering with empathy and something more suggestive as it gradually moved up to the warmth of his thigh, offering a silent promise of solace and perhaps something much less wordy.


    Her gesture was a delicate, soothing touch and a very clear invitation, an understanding that sometimes a warm bed with messy sheets could offer a temporary effective concoction from heartaches and other psych affairs. But it wasn¡¯t working, the smell was¡ªthe smell.


    Mediah''s gaze sharpened as he focused on Zvoya, "Is she, though? She seemed far from alright when I saw her."


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Zvoya, unperturbed by his accusation, nodded with a nonchalant ease. "She''s carrying a child, and these recent moons have been incredibly challenging for her. Once the baby arrives, I expect things will start to stabilise. Right now, she needs to rest more than anything else. I''ve even suggested to King Xendrix that he should allow her to skip these festivities to avoid further strain."


    Mediah''s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "I thought you were a Mortician," he pointed out, puzzled by her detailed knowledge of Ulencia''s condition and Xendrix''s mention. She knew much more than she was conceding.


    Zvoya''s response was accompanied by a slight, knowing smile, "I never specifically said I was a mortician. I merely mentioned that I occasionally tend to the dead," she clarified. "My duties at the castle are quite varied, especially since King Ieagan fell ill."


    "Ieagan is alive?" Mediah''s surprise was evident, mingled with confusion at this unexpected piece of information, "I thought he was dead."


    "He is," Zvoya affirmed, her expression revealing nothing further. She delivered the statement with a certainty that left Mediah wondering which of her words were the whole truth. Was he alive, or was he dead? Or was he both?


    Her adeptness at navigating the conversation without revealing too much was an art.


    Mediah''s attention was momentarily arrested, his hand with the piece of bread hanging in mid-air as he digested Zvoya''s words. "So, you work closely with Xendrix?" he asked, his eyes meticulously scrutinising her face for any hint of falsehood or deflection. "You''re an assistant of some sort?"


    Zvoya maintained steady eye contact, her expression a masterful tapestry of sincerity interwoven with possible deception. "In a manner of speaking, yes... though not as intimately involved as I might like. A girl is allowed to her dreams and fantasies," she replied with a hint of playfulness as her fingers coaxed his fly pants.


    "So, it''s Xendrix who broke your heart?" Mediah asked flat.


    In response, Zvoya subtly withdrew her hand from his pants.


    "The King is rather elusive... but in his own way, he does find moments for those within his court." Her voice carried a note of ambiguity, leaving Mediah to wonder about the true nature of her relationship with the King. She seemed too well-educated to be a simple courtesan.


    "And you? Does he make time for you?" He asked, aimed at catching her off guard.


    Zvoya answered with a nonchalant shrug, "When he can, of course. He''s the King, after all. A King does what a King wants."


    "Is that right?"


    "Do you disagree?"


    Mediah responded with a casual shrug. "Honestly, I haven''t spent much time with him. I tried to teach him some magical principles once or twice, but it turned out to be rather futile."


    "Really?" Zvoya''s expression showed genuine surprise. "That''s hard to believe."


    "You think so?"


    "Yes, he''s quite masterful in the arcane arts. It''s hard to picture him struggling with magic."


    Mediah nodded, a look of realisation crossing his face. "I was as taken aback as you are. Initially, I didn''t think he''d get the hang of it. But Noctavia, she has an approach to magic that''s quite unconventional," he elaborated.


    "She sounds remarkable," Zvoya commented, clearly intrigued by the mention of the word Noctavia.


    "More than that, she''s extraordinary," Mediah agreed. "A true Master."


    "So, her real name, and correct me if I''m wrong, but it isn''t Noctavia, is it?" Zvoya probed, a sly edge to her question, "That would be a strange name for a girl to carry."


    Mediah looked at her, visibly surprised. "You know Menschen?"


    "Nur um poken," she replied with a smirk, maintaining her steady gaze on him. Her playful response left him momentarily off guard.


    His eyes darted around the room, a sudden unease creeping over him. Something felt off, but he couldn''t quite put his finger on it. His gaze settled on the grand wooden stage set up behind King Xendrix''s table. It was unusually large and imposing, almost as if the guests were anticipating some significant event, not just a mere celebration of the King''s coronation.


    Then there was the smell... a distinct, unmistakable odour that permeated the air. It smelled like rotten cabbage.


    What did Ulencia try to warn him from?


    <blockquote>


    I recount living in complete darkness until my adulthood. For twenty-two winters, our world was devoid of any moonlight, sunlight, or starlight. During that time, numerous theories and prophecies emerged to explain this phenomenon. Many were rooted in religion - elves spoke of their Green Mother, humans came in with their Holy Mother, Orcs, dwarfs, I don''t know, they all believed in something greater than themselves playing with the skies. Even the Menschen blamed The Howling Night, believing he had engulfed the sky as punishment. Today, however, explanations are grounded in science, supported by facts, evidence, and the ability to replicate events to validate theories. I have attended many scientific conventions where such topics were hotly debated. The theories ranged from planetary shadows and black holes to the emergence of a dense new atmosphere engulfing all light coming from outer space. These discussions were fun at first, but now, by the end, I often wished I could reveal the truth, which was much simpler. It is so much simpler. Yet, I held back because revealing it would render all my efforts and sacrifices futile. My silence was and still is a choice to protect the larger narrative and the work I had dedicated my life to. I want to meet my daughter. That is all I want, to hold my little girl in my arms. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0045] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Verratung


    Noun


    Translation: Betrayal


    Definition: "Verratung" in Menschen is used to denote the act of betrayal in any form, whether personal, political, or otherwise. It encapsulates the breaking of a moral or ethical code, a turning away from a promise or duty. The term is heavily laden with emotional and moral weight in Menschen culture.


    </blockquote>


    "Love?"


    Noctavia¡¯s world was enveloped in a persistent buzzing akin to a swarm of relentless insects. This ceaseless hum, ebbing and flowing in intensity, formed an invisible barrier, isolating Noctavia from her surroundings. She couldn''t focus on anything around her.


    "Zonnestra!" The voice, more insistent this time, broke through her auditory shroud.


    Startled, she turned as a hand gently settled on her shoulder. "My love, are you alright? You haven''t touched your food," Yeso inquired, his eyes wide with concern.


    "Oh, I..." Noctavia didn''t even realise she was sitting at the table.


    They were all gathered around the kitchen table, sharing a meal with the newly arrived faeries, Maggie and Maddie, alongside Godmama, who cooked, and Claramae, who will be leaving first thing tomorrow. Orlo slept peacefully, cuddling his little white mouse in his basket beside Noctavia.


    "I have this annoying buzz in my ear. It just won''t stop," Noctavia complained, her frustration evident as she inserted her pinkie finger into her ear, hoping to alleviate the irritation.


    "Let me see," Yeso offered. He gently brushed her golden hair away from her ear, peering closely. "I don''t see anything, love."


    "Could it be a bug? Maybe a bee?" she speculated, the annoyance in her voice growing.


    Godmama rose from her seat as she joined Yeso to inspect Noctavia''s predicament. "He''s right, dear. There''s nothing there," she confirmed, her tone soothing yet puzzled.


    "This is driving me mad; I can barely hear," Noctavia lamented, her frustration mounting. She propped her elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands. "I''m so exhausted!"


    "When did it start?" Yeso inquired, his brow furrowed with concern.


    "About an hour ago, maybe more, maybe less? It''s like a swarm of bees but with a lower pitch," she explained, irritated and weary.


    "My Love, maybe you should go rest," Yeso suggested, his tone uncertain, betraying his helplessness in the face of her discomfort. He turned to the faeries, searching for a solution. "Is there any concoction we can give her for this?"


    "She is a Menschen, Yeso... she is not sick! We can''t get sick!" Claramae interjected, her voice carrying a note of conviction. "She must have something inside. Maybe if we wash it out with water, it will come out?" she proposed, simultaneously heaping more food onto her plate.


    "We could try that," Godmama agreed, setting about preparing a pot. She filled it with water and then added oil and salt. "Just getting the water ready. Maybe the girl needs to lie down while we wait."


    Yeso wrapped an arm around Noctavia, offering her his support. "You''ll be fine. In a bit, we''ll be laughing about this," he reassured her, though he could sense the strain she was under, her effort to stave off tears indicative of her genuine distress.


    "I think I''ll go for a walk," Noctavia finally announced, pushing herself away from the table.


    Yeso immediately rose to his feet, his protective instincts kicking in. "I''ll come with you," he offered.


    But Noctavia shook her head, a wave of independence washing over her. "No, please keep an eye on Orlo. I just need..." She paused, her back to everyone, the struggle evident in her voice. "I don''t know what I need. I just want this to stop."


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    With those words, she exited the house, stepping into the woods. The sound in her ear was so overpowering that it muddled her thoughts, a cacophonous din that isolated her from the world. Unbeknownst to her, the Howling Night trailed behind a silent, unseen Spirit watching over his Master.


    As she ventured deeper into the forest, the incessant buzzing began to morph, slowly forming coherent words that resonated with a haunting familiarity, "I summon... I summon... I summon."


    Noctavia recognised the voice amidst the echo of the relentless buzz, now amplifying into an overwhelming chorus. The words, laced with an eerie familiarity, seemed to call out to her. But her despair beckoned her deeper into the shadowy embrace of the woods.


    Noctavia wondered why didn''t Yeso experience this maddening sensation, too. Weren''t they connected, hexed to share each other''s emotions and sensations?


    The sound enveloping her felt like a suffocating cloak of seclusion that weighed heavily on her spirit. She yearned to scream, to release the turmoil churning inside her, but it felt as if her very lips were stitched shut, silencing her cries.


    With each step she took deeper into the forest, her sense of time and distance blurred into irrelevance. The haunting voice grew more insistent, its refrain echoing through the trees, "I summon you, Magi. I summon you, Magi... I summon you, Magi..."


    The earlier faint whisper was now a commanding call, resonating louder and more urgently in her ears.


    This repetitive summons, barely perceptible at first, now dominated the soundscape, a relentless chant that seemed to beckon her further into its depths, drawing her inexorably towards an unseen force that called her with increasing fervour.


    Noctavia fell to the ground. She realised suddenly she couldn''t feel her right leg, and then it was her right arm... it just fell as if detaching from her body.


    Something was happening to her. She started to not feel the right side of her face, and a current of electricity swiped back and forth through her; she turned to Howl, "Get help! I think..." She fell down and started to convulse.


    Overwhelmed by the unseen force, Noctavia found herself losing control, her body convulsing on the ground as an invisible and sinister force took over. She felt an excruciating sensation akin to an invisible needle stitching her right eye shut. Every piercing, every pull of the thread through her skin was agonisingly vivid. Then, with a cruel meticulousness, the unseen force moved to her other eye, plunging her world into darkness.


    Panic surged within her as she desperately attempted to open her mouth, to scream, to call out for help. But before a sound could escape her lips, a sharp pain seized her as if a needle had punctured her mouth, effectively sealing it shut.


    Amidst her blind and muted torment, she could hear the distant echoes of life continuing unabated. A blend of boisterous laughter and animated conversations reached her, accompanied by the clinking of glasses and the occasionally slurred words of those who had indulged too much. This stark contrast between her own harrowing experience and the oblivious merriment of others only intensified her feeling of helplessness and isolation as she lay there, bound by an unseen force in the midst of the dark.


    Then, amidst the cacophony of pain and the surreal chorus of distant revelry, the voice emerged, clear and commanding, slicing through her turmoil. She knew that voice!


    "I summon you, Magi, mightiest of all. Come forth, heed my call. Bend your power to my will; your purpose is now mine to instil. Together, we shall prevail. I claim mastery over your fate. Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine, the Noctavia, Zonnestra Duvencrune!"


    The words, spoken with an air of imperious certainty, echoed ominously around Noctavia. Each syllable reverberated with a dark power, binding and constricting.


    It was his voice, unmistakable in its arrogance and ambition, proclaiming his dominion over her essence, her very being. He betrayed her, why? How could he? Why? Why Xendrix?


    Treason!


    Betrayal!


    Verratung!


    Yeso?


    Someone¡­help!


    Por bitte ajuda mir es! Por bitte¡­


    <blockquote>


    I still have a distinct reluctance to teach alchemy, even at a basic level. To me, alchemy is like nuclear power: it''s a potent and clean energy source that could solve numerous energy-related problems, but if it falls into the wrong hands, the potential for massive destruction is monumental. The Menschen have their own language and script. Our language is relatively straightforward to teach, provided one has the patience to grasp the philosophy behind the words. Once that hurdle is crossed, it becomes almost child''s play. However, our writing is far more complex, a labyrinthine array of lines and shapes forming sentences that are, in essence, translations of Menschen magic--alchemy. My father''s last mission was to teach humans to read and write Menschen. But, no human could hope to fully comprehend it within a single lifetime. The case of Xendrix Kaspian, who mastered this script at a young age, is a mystery that continues to puzzle me, and I am not someone who tolerates unanswered questions lightly. My father, for instance, shared a mere piece of paper, similar to how we might leave a phone number or email address today. Tragically, a friend per se, to whom he shared this knowledge, shared his roof and his food, accepting him as family, used it for nefarious purposes, transforming what could have been a miracle into an abomination. I still hate him. I still can''t forgive him after all this time. There will never be redemption for anyone who carries the surname Kaspian. If hell is a real thing as per humans, I hope to find them there. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0046] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Lamiasaat


    Noun


    Translation: Seed of the Nightmare


    Definition: "Lamiasaat" is a term used to denote necromancers or alchemists who specialize in the creation of Lamia forms through dark magic using life force.


    </blockquote>


    Mediah, lodged amidst the noise of the banquet, felt a growing sense of unease with boredom. For some reason, he suddenly felt he was in danger.


    The constant chatter, the peals of laughter that once seemed so lively, now grated on his patience. He felt like an outsider, a spectator to a joy he couldn''t partake in. Even Zvoya, who initially piqued his interest, now seemed to irk him. Her presence was now suffocating him, especially her disgusting scent that intensified with the passing moments, weaving through the air like a disliked guest.


    But his weariness was about to be shattered. The banquet hall was disturbed by the clanging of bells. The herald, accompanied by another server, rang them with a fervour that demanded the assembly''s attention. The room gradually fell silent.


    At that moment, King Xendrix rose from his ornate chair, clutching a golden cup in his hand, and his voice resonated across the hall.


    "My loyal people!" he began, his eyes sweeping across the faces of his subjects, a warm smile gracing his lips. "How glad I am to see each one of you, and even faces that have been absent for over a Fall. This gathering, this celebration, is almost the happiest day of my life."


    He paused, creating a slight cliffhanger for the room, which was hanging on his every word.


    "Of course, my wedding, my marriage to my sweet Ulencia, holds the first place in my heart," he continued, jesting.


    The banquet hall erupted into a chorus of laughter and applause, momentarily interrupting his words. He waited for the sounds to subside, a patient smile playing on his lips.


    "First," he resumed, "I must apologize on behalf of my wife, your queen, and mine too. She has retired to rest. As many of you know, she carries my heir. My happiness knows no bounds, all thanks to that woman and the Holy Mother. How could I be more blessed? Perhaps King Orlan has some ideas?"


    Laughter rippled through the crowd at his jest while King Orlan, managing to conceal his strained smile, nodded politely and waved to the attendees, a necessary facade in the royal spectacle.


    ¡°Nothing, Orlan? Well, best luck next time!¡± Xendrix lowered his golden cup, his gaze drifting downward in a moment of reflection. "After the tragedy that befell my father, a story not for today, I believed happiness was beyond my grasp. I thought the warmth of love, whether from a spouse, a friend," he nodded towards Mediah, acknowledging the presence of the Magi, "or my loyal subjects, was a feeling I''d never truly comprehend."


    His voice grew stronger, "But now, I stand before you, feeling truly blessed. The love and support I''ve received has been a guiding light in my darkest hours."


    Raising his head, he continued, "I hope, in time, I can prove my valour to you all. To be the king you deserve, a king worthy of your loyalty and affection."


    His words resonated through the hall, and the crowd, moved by his sincerity, responded with a renewed round of applause and cheers.


    King Xendrix, with a fluid motion, pushed his chair back and took two steps backwards, climbing up the stage, ensuring he was fully visible to everyone in the grand hall.


    "I have spent over six moons with the Menschen," he began. "At first, I admit, my views were narrow. I saw them as savages, barefoot wanderers living in tents, almost feral in my ignorant eyes. Who could have known?"


    He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "But what I have learned from them... it has been an education of the soul, or the seed as they call it. I have learned to be grateful for the blessings I possess, to embrace humility in my actions and thoughts."


    His eyes sparkled as he continued. "And most significantly, I learned the art of magic. But let me tell you, it came with its own set of challenges!"


    The crowd, captivated by his story, leaned in, eager to hear more.


    "My first challenge was to defeat a treant, a creature, a human tree, taller than the roof of this very castle!" He gestured grandly towards the high ceilings. "The task was to retrieve a magical sword, which I now proudly possess."


    He revealed the weapon that was hanging on its holster, its blade etched with what appeared to be nonsensical gibberish and adorned with beads from Noctavia''s skirts, but only a few knew the truth.


    "Then came a more formidable adversary ¨C a dragon, the wicked Leviathon! A cruel creature that emerged from the depths of the sea."


    He lifted the sword high into the air and proceeded with the story, "With this very sword, I pierced its impenetrable scale and plunged the blade into its heart!¡±


    While the assembly watched, spellbound by Xendrix recounting, Mediah''s brow furrowed in disbelief. His expression was etched with doubt as he tried to reconcile Xendrix''s words with the reality he knew. The king''s tales, while captivating, seemed to drift further from the truth with each grandiose claim.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Finally," Xendrix continued, his voice swelling with dramatic flair, "I faced the challenge of conquering the wind. I ascended the tallest peak of Keblurg, only to find myself locked in combat with the Wind Eagle!" His hands gestured wildly, mimicking the ferocity of the gale he described.


    "Storms and tornadoes raged around me, but with the unyielding will of a true son of Keblurg, I emerged victorious over the mighty creature." Xendrix''s chest puffed out with pride as he recounted his supposed conquest.


    "Now, you must be wondering about the last element. What became of it?" he teased, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of his storytelling.


    The room leaned in, caught up in the narrative, eager for the climax of this fantastical adventure. Meanwhile, Mediah''s scepticism only deepened, his mind churning with questions and doubts about the absurdity and lies of the king''s extraordinary exploits.


    "I was finally resting, seated by the fireplace with my mentor after this long journey, an old wise man, a Magi who has transcended our world, who had guided me through these incredible trials." He paused, a look of reverence crossing his face as he recalled the imaginative, wise figure.


    "He attempted to teach me the final key, summoning the element of fire. And the lesson he taught me, I shall never forget." Xendrix took a contemplative sip from his goblet, his audience still hanging on his narrative.


    "Fire," he continued, "is the most powerful element you could find. But it only works if you harmonize it with all the other elements. Then, he presented me with a drawing inscribed in the Menschen language." A hint of pride crept into his voice as he confessed, "At first, it was indecipherable to me, but then, as if the fog lifted, I understood it."


    His eyes shone with the fervour of his revelation. "He bestowed upon me the power of fire, the power to fight! A gift that embodies not just strength, but the harmony of all elements combined."


    As Xendrix spoke, his voice became louder and more fanatical. "He turned me into an Alchemist! But for that, he sacrificed his life. I was the last person he saw who comforted him in his last moments. "


    The sound of his last sentence echoed slightly in the hushed room. A shadow of vulnerability flickered across his face as he continued, "After that loss, I was plagued with doubt. Despite enduring all these trials, I felt as though I had failed. I feared I had let my people down, that I would never be worthy to walk in the footsteps of King Ieagan Kaspian. I truly thought I was lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and unworthiness. But then..." He began to pace around the stage, his movement drawing the eyes of the assembly.


    "Then I arrived at the camp with a dead body in my arms... and discovered someone had slain spiders. Now, you might think, what is one bug more or less? But these were no ordinary spiders; they were soldiers of the Spiderqueen, and she was enraged. In a desperate attempt to save the settlement from the queen''s wrath, I summoned all that I had learned." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And I brought forty-four spiders back to life!"


    A sombre air enveloped the hall, the mood shifting morbidly as if the tale had morphed from a fairytale into something much darker, much grimmer. An anonymous voice even dared to whisper, ¡°Necromancy¡­¡±


    "Please, children, show yourselves," Xendrix commanded.


    One by one, figures began to stand up among the crowd. They looked like ordinary people¡ªhumans, elves, a dwarf. And to Mediah''s not-so-immense surprise, Zvoya stood up as well. The revelation sent a ripple of astonishment through the hall.


    "Magic is a phenomenal tool," Xendrix continued, addressing the stunned audience. "We can defend ourselves, strike our enemies where it hurts most, and create new hope. But mostly, we can summon aid, power, and forces beyond our imagination. If I can summon the dead, why not the living?" Xendrix posed this rhetorical question.


    The assembly was rapt, hanging on his every word. As he spoke, something extraordinary occurred behind him. A circular shape began to form on the wall as if emerging from the very stones themselves.


    Divided into four segments, each bearing a distinct symbol - a cup, a coin, a wand, and a sword - the symbols materialized in the stone with an eerie luminescence as though etched by some dark, arcane force. The sight of it sent a shiver through the crowd; they didn''t know if to awe or feel the dread rippling through the hall.


    "I summon you, Magi, mightiest of all. Come forth, heed my call. Bend your power to my will; your purpose is now mine to instil. Together, we shall prevail. I claim mastery over your fate. Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine!"


    Every eye was fixed on the king and the arcane symbols behind him. However, only a few noticed that one of the symbols¡ªthe coin¡ªbecame a skull.


    "Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine!" He repeated with the final word of his incantation. The symbols on the wall glowed brighter.


    ¡°Zonnestra Duvencrune!¡±


    There was an unease in the crowd as if something in the air wasn''t right, and from the surface of the ground, a woman dressed in colourful fabric appeared.


    She was fighting for her freedom or an invisible enemy she couldn''t fathom, her eyes and mouth stitched. There was the strongest Magi of them all, and none of the assembly knew her name besides Xendrix and Mediah. And that mage, that woman, was the Noctavia, the Master of the Howling Night, Hexe of Yeso Sternach, the Sun¡ªZonnestra Duvencrune.


    Mediah couldn''t believe his eyes. He looked beside him, Zvoya, transpiring pride and veneration for her king, and the other forty-three Lamias spread through the hall. There wasn''t much escape, and in the air was the smell of blood about to be spilt and splashed.


    Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. Mediah turned and saw a man with red hair, an amber eye and a patch on the other. "Come with me if you want to live!"


    "Who are you?" Mediah asked with the notion that the answer was the least important in this situation.


    "Oh boy, I have so many names¡­ for now, call me Edgar. Edgar Duvencrune, but come on, we don''t have much time! This is about to become a slaughter!"


    <blockquote>


    In my books, there''s a chapter that I find particularly difficult to address. It''s challenging to speak about, let alone write because it often provokes questions from those who only know part of the story and not the whole story¡ªthe full cycle. They ask, "Why didn''t you save your parents? You had the means, the knowledge, the power. Why did you choose to sacrifice them?" From their viewpoint, the doubt is understandable. However, the choice I faced was: it was either my parents or my daughter. This is a decision that perhaps only a parent can truly comprehend. The ease with which I made that choice might seem unfathomable to some. But the more complicated question for me is how I could harbour such deep, unconditional love for a creature I never once held in my arms. Yet, despite the pain of that decision, I know in my heart that I would make the same choice again and again and again just for the chance to hold her, even if just for a silver moment. They would have taken the same decision, for me or for her. The same. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0047] - The Nightmare

    <blockquote>


    Sehr em ver, vida weiter mir tu suchen


    Phrase


    Translation: Nice to see you, in the next life I will continue to search for you


    Definition: "Sehr em ver, vida weiter mir tu suchen" is a poignant and contradictor phrase in Menschen, often spoken during farewells. It translates to "Nice to see you, in the next life I will continue to search for you." This expression conveys a deep and enduring connection that transcends the present life, embodying the hope and belief that the bond will be rekindled in a future existence. However rare is the Menschen that believes in the afterlife.


    </blockquote>


    "Duven-who?" Mediah muttered, his confusion evident as he glanced back towards King Xendrix, who now held Noctavia''s hand aloft for all to see. "People of Keblurg! Behold the saviour our nation has been blessed with, sent by my mentor! The mightiest of them all!" Xendrix''s proclamation echoed through the hall, followed by applause but also by more murmurs and whispers, not pleased with what had just occurred.


    Mediah''s heart sank at the sight of Noctavia, her once presence now reduced to a passive, eerie stillness, her eyes and mouth grotesquely stitched. His mind raced with questions. Did Yeso know about this? Was there anyone coming to her aid? He knew he had to act.


    Yet, as he began to rise, Edgar''s firm grip on his shoulder halted him. "There''s no time for heroics. We must go!"


    Edgar tugged Mediah by his collar away with forceful guidance and led Mediah to a door, which he pushed open with surprising ease.


    As the door swung open, Mediah found himself stumbling into an entirely different setting, as if stepping into a new world, leaving behind the scenario they had just been part of. This was no longer Keblurg.


    They emerged into a clearing, an abrupt shift in scenery that left Mediah disoriented. Before him stretched a beach, its sands merging with the Red Sea''s waters. To his left, mountains towered, casting long shadows, and dense woods loomed behind him. "What the..." Mediah''s voice trailed off, his bewilderment growing.


    The man with an amber eye and the darkness of a black patch¡ªthe same fabric as the black robes of Magis¡ªcovering the other held an aura of both riddle and answer. His short red hair seemed to be a flame atop his head, casting a glow that matched the intensity of his visible eye.


    There was something eerily familiar about his face but to whom Mediah couldn''t place. His stature, notably shorter than the Magi''s, aligned him more closely with Noctavia''s height.


    This man, who called himself Edgar Duvencrune, dressed in a brown suit, leaned his body on an intricately designed steel cane, which he used not just as a support but as a statement or a weapon.


    "Everything you need is here," Edgar said, his smile broad and trying to be reassuring.


    Frustration and panic gripped Mediah as he spun around, searching for the magical doorway back. "I need to return! My friend... she''s in danger!"


    Edgar''s grip tightened, a seriousness overtaking his previously easy demeanour. "It''s too late. In a few hours, they''ll all die. They always die."


    "That''s all the more reason for me to help!" Mediah insisted with desperation. "I need to go back!"


    "You have a different role to play," Edgar stated solemnly, "Your path isn''t back there; it''s here, where your true destiny awaits. You have no idea how much you''ll influence the whole outcome."


    "I have no idea?" Mediah felt the rawest frustration and was barely above a whisper before escalating into a loud exclamation. "I have no idea! Of course I don''t, you lunatic! Where the fuck am I? Noctavia is in danger, and here you are, dragging me to this place with some bullshit prophecy nonsense!" Mediah''s voice cracked, verging on a shout.


    Edgar, with an unexpectedly calm demeanour, placed his hand over his face and crouched slightly.


    "What the fuck are you doing?" Mediah asked, his anger rising.


    "Every time you''ve gotten upset in the past, you''ve tended to throw a punch. Out of thirty-two times, I''ve only managed to dodge twelve. Not taking any chances this time; you really pack a wallop," Edgar explained his tone as a childlike sulk.


    Mediah couldn''t help but admit to himself that he had indeed been on the verge of striking the red-headed nose. However, Edgar''s words and mannerisms continued to spark a sense of familiarity in him.


    "You said thirty-two times?" Mediah questioned, a flicker of almost recognition crossing his mind. Why did he look so familiar?


    Edgar straightened up, brushing off imaginary dust from his sleeves with a nonchalant gesture. "Forget I mentioned that; the less you know, the better for the integrity of my plan."


    "Your plan?" Mediah''s confusion deepened.


    "You''re quite nosy. It''s almost fascinating," Edgar remarked, observing Mediah with a scrutinizing gaze. "Here''s what I can divulge: in six hours, an unprecedented event will occur. All nine moons and the sun will vanish, casting the world into a prolonged darkness spanning twenty-two winters. Then, a colossal tsunami will flood the District Trial, Moonbay, and vast areas of Spiyles and Keblurg. It will be recorded as one of the greatest natural disasters in history. Though," he added with a cryptic smile, "its origins aren''t exactly natural. But who am I to spoil the surprise? But this period of darkness will be known as the Long Night."


    Mediah''s expression turned grave. "I don''t understand... does this mean everyone will die?"


    "No, not everyone. Most people you know will be safe," Edgar assured him.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "What about Ulencia?"


    Edgar met Mediah''s gaze, his expression sombre. "Ulencia... she''s already gone."


    "What?" Mediah''s heart sank. Disbelief and sorrow collided within him, "I just talked with her like twenty minutes ago! What is this? The End of Times?"


    "Yes and no... it''s a bit more complex to define precisely, and there''s only one thing you need to do. Just a small, crucial task..." Edgar illustrated his point by pinching a tiny gap between his thumb and index finger.


    Mediah, feeling overwhelmed by the avalanche of maybe fictitious revelations, asked wearily, "What is it?"


    "Build an army. Establish a new District Trial right here, maybe with another name. This location is ideal; you have access to all the necessary elements within a few kilometres. You''re in the heart of Ormgrund, perfectly situated to recruit. But hidden enough from the Capitol. And once summer begins, even cadets from the Great Continent will seek you out," Edgar explained with enthusiasm.


    Looking around at the desolate surroundings, Mediah''s scepticism was tangible. "How am I supposed to do that? I''m all alone, and there''s literally nothing here!"


    "You''ll manage. I''ve prepared something for you." Edgar reached into his jacket''s inner pocket and pulled out a book. This action made Mediah take a closer look at Edgar''s attire, noticing the peculiar style - full-length pants, a blouse, and a triangular silk belt cinched around his collar. "Here, take this," Edgar said, handing the book to Mediah.


    A hardcover book crafted from a dark and soft Black Robe fabric featured a central, elegantly simple embroidery of the infinity symbol. Affixed upon a white label, the title read: "Handbook of the Advanced Elemental Theories and Practical Applications for the Trial of the Elements by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune.¡±


    Mediah eyed the book with suspicion. "What is this? What am I supposed to¡­ fuck, I¡¯m starting to have a headache!"


    "It''s everything you need to know," Edgar replied, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. "Take a look at the first page; I''ve added something special for you¡­ and for her."


    Curiosity piqued, Mediah flipped open the book. His eyes widened in shock upon seeing the contents of the first page. "This... this... this is the hex for Hexe, the spell Yeso created. How did you... what? How?"


    "Everyone deserves a happy ending," Edgar said nonchalantly, scuffing the sand with his shoe. "Whether you choose to use it or not is up to you."


    Mediah, still reeling from the revelation, asked, "In those thirty-two times I punched you, how many times did I actually use this hex?"


    Edgar made a thoughtful noise, clicking his tongue. "None."


    "Why not?"


    "I''m not sure. But, perhaps the choice to use it or not will determine whether I was successful in achieving my aims. So, both you and I will eventually find our happy endings, and everything will fall into its proper place. You¡¯ll see your boy grow, and I can finally hold my little one. That¡¯s all I ever wanted, don¡¯t you?¡±


    As Mediah leafed through the pages of the book, he found it to be a comprehensive tome, encompassing all facets of a Magi''s journey. It detailed the codes and ethics a Magi must adhere to, various exercises to hone their skills, and a thorough breakdown of Spirit hierarchies, the nuances of different bloodlines, and their unique magical properties. The bulk of the book was dedicated to advanced exercises designed to elevate mages to the status of Magi, greatly enhancing their magical capabilities.


    Engrossed in the wealth of knowledge before him, Mediah was momentarily lost in a trance when one of the chapters was called ¡°The Ulencia Swords¡±. When he finally looked up, the one-eyed, red-haired man, Edgar, was nowhere to be seen.


    Mediah found himself alone, seemingly abandoned in the midst of an unknown land. His gaze returned to the book, particularly noting the cover that read, "Written by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune."


    A flicker of realization crossed his mind. Could Edgar, the strange man who had brought him here, also be the author of this invaluable book?


    <hr>


    Edgar stepped through the door into his living room, where the television broadcasted the news. A woman fae with elegant alters, and glasses over her dark nose sat behind a sleek, glass news desk.


    On the screen behind her, there''s a bold graphic with the headline "Crisis Alert: Keplurg Announces Possession of WMDs". The graphic also features a world map pinpointing the nations of Keplurg and Spiyles, with red lines indicating tension.


    The anchor appears concerned as she reports the latest developments, stating, "Breaking News: The President of Keplurg, Xendrix Kaspian, has announced today its possession of weapons of mass destruction, posing a direct threat to its neighbour Spiyles. The reason for this sudden aggression is still under investigation. In response, leaders from the Nations of the Great Continent, including The Elven King, Finnegan Berdorf, are engaging in urgent peace negotiations to avert what many fear could escalate into a devastating war."


    The screen also shows a small inset image of President Kaspian in a meeting with other world leaders in previous summers, highlighting the global concern over this unfolding situation.


    "I''m home," he announced, his voice tinged with a slight crack as he shook the sand from his shoes.


    As Edgar entered, a woman with distinctive red eyes and striking white hair welcomed him from the couch, a plate of cheese in her hands and a warm smile on her face.


    However, her smile quickly faded into a look of concern as she noticed the somber expression etched on Edgar''s face. "Master?" she asked with a soft, worried tone.


    "Don''t fret, little mouse, I''m okay," Edgar responded, attempting to sound reassuring as he began to loosen his tie. A heavy sigh escaped him as he added, "It''s just that... I saw her... again." His voice almost cracked when he explained, "I saw my mother, and it''s... difficult, seeing her in that state."


    "I know... You always feel like that... each time," she noted with empathy, carefully taking his shoes and jacket and placing them neatly in the closet.


    "It''s unsettling. Why did he choose to use the stitching technique?"


    "You always come back with the same question and every time I answer you, the eyes are stitched to sever her connection with your father and the mouth to ensure she cannot speak. No spoken words, no spells, Orlo," she explained matter-of-factly as if she explained the same thing over and over again.


    "No chance of her calling upon her Spirit," Edgar added, piecing together the grim reality of the situation, "So no Howling Night!"


    "I still believe his ultimate aim was to summon your father. Time manipulation isn''t exactly a skill for mere show," she remarked, returning with a hot beverage, which she handed to Edgar. "To warm your Saatgut."


    Edgar accepted the drink, his thoughts wandering. "Do you think this is the right version?" he queried.


    "Yes, I believe we are very close," she replied with an encouraging smile. "Very, very close."


    "Do you think she''ll like me?" Edgar asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.


    "There''s no way she won''t," she assured him.


    "The idea of meeting her terrifies me," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the view outside the window where a massive billboard loomed. The advertisement displayed the image of a young woman with a distinct, diamond-shaped face and eyes of an indescribable hue.


    The caption read: "The 500th Anniversary of the Disappearance of the Summerqueen, Eura Berdorf: From Hero to Villain."


    The woman standing beside him extended a piece of cheese towards her Master, her voice resolute. "We will find her, and in doing so, we will save the world from the End of Times. Everything will be as it should be."


    He sighed deeply, a sense of unease clouding his thoughts. "There''s this nagging feeling that I''m overlooking something important. Like there''s a loose end I haven''t tied up, but for the life of me, I can''t pinpoint what it is."


    "You''ll figure it out... or we''ll start all over again."


    <blockquote>


    This book is dedicated to my unborn child and yet taught me to love as I never imagined it was possible. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 1st Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0048] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Koimar


    Noun


    Translation: Fish


    Definition: "Koimar" is the term to denote fish, specifically referring to the Dual-Headed Fish known as the Spirit of Healing. This unique creature is revered specially in the elven culture for its mystical properties and its symbolic representation of healing and balance.


    </blockquote>


    Lunch was over, and Claramae busied herself with tidying the table while Godmama began to wash the dishes. The soft clinking of utensils provided a soothing, rhythmic backdrop to the otherwise awkward silence. Noctavia has not yet returned after complaining about the buzzing sound in her ears.


    The twins, Maggie and Maddie, sat almost motionless at the table, their presence barely noticeable. They were so still. It was as if they were holding their breath, but their wide eyes betrayed their curiosity. Unblinked eyes which feared that even the slightest rustle or breath from them might shatter the deep introspection of Yeso.


    He was sitting at the head of the table, his eyes fixed on the door, and seemed to be probing, waiting for her. Noctavia had yet to come back.


    So, his impatience translated into tapping with his fingers on the wooden table surface. Each tap resonated nervously in the hushed room, the sound reverberating as if in slow motion, amplifying its significance, getting louder and louder.


    Yeso''s gaze inadvertently fell upon the faeries, who were watching him with an expression that bordered on dreadful. Then, he quickly shifted his attention to the others in the room. "She''s been away for quite a while, hasn''t she?" he asked.


    Claramae responded calmly as she gathered the dirty dishes. "She did seem quite upset. But give her some time; the woods aren''t big enough for her to get lost. And let''s not forget, her Spirit is with her. So, please, just relax."


    Yeso''s attention then drifted to his sleeping baby, Orlo, with his fiery red hair, who lay peacefully in his basket with a small white mouse cuddling against his cheek.


    "He sleeps a lot," he remarked, almost to himself but still with a gentle smirk.


    "It''s a baby. You think too much, Yeso. You worry too much. Don''t you have anything better to do?" Claramae retorted with a hint of annoyance as she grabbed the broom to begin sweeping the floor.


    "Maybe I should go for a walk..." Yeso mused, rising from his chair while the twins'' eyes followed his every move.


    "You need to stay here and watch over Orlo. We''re all busy," Claramae scolded, emphasizing her point with the broom in her hand, "What is wrong with you today?"


    But Godmama interjected, "Let him go. The baby is fine, and Yeso clearly isn''t."


    "Excuse me, everyone... I''ll just be off for a brief five minutes," he finally said, standing up, "I''ll be back in no time."


    He wouldn''t. This was the last time the faeries would see the little boy with diamond hair and eyes of a colour none could name, born and raised between them. He would be soon gone. And for a long time, Claramae would regret the last word she told him.


    Yeso scoured every nook and cranny of Faewood in his desperate quest for Noctavia, retracing his steps to even the most minor, most secluded spots he knew.


    He revisited the little clearing where he had found her moons before talking about her visions, his eyes scanning every inch of the familiar terrain, but it yielded no sign of her. He raised his voice, calling out her name with such strength that it echoed through the trees, startling the birds into flight.


    "Zonnestra!"


    This behaviour was uncharacteristic of Noctavia. She was well aware of how her absence would unsettle him, how it would send ripples of concern through his heart, stomach and even to his staatgut.


    She knew the depth of their Hexe, the promise of always being there for one another, always being within reach. She knew better than him.


    But Yeso was gripped by this chilling emptiness, an unsettling void where once he could sense Noctavia''s presence. It was as though their bond had been inexplicably cut off.


    Confusion swirled in his mind. Had she intentionally blindfolded herself from him? Was she harbouring anger or resentment towards him? Was it the noise she was complaining about, and she didn''t want to share this pain with him? What was it?


    As Yeso ventured deeper, the eerie stillness of the forest was abruptly shattered by a growl. The sound was unnerving, unlike anything he had encountered before. It was a raw, tortured sound, filled with rage and agony, like that of a gravely wounded beast writhing in the darkness, desperately seeking an escape from its pain.


    Instinctively, Yeso''s hand moved to the hilt of his dagger - a weapon made of copper that he always carried with him, and Noctavia had an identical one. Among his peers, the black-robed ones wielding a copper blade were often viewed with contempt. They criticised its unpredictability, how its edge could dull suddenly, making it seem unreliable.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    However, there was a deeper reason behind Yeso''s choice of weapon. Copper demanded intentionality; it wasn''t a blade meant for mindless violence. To effectively use it to kill required a genuine, deliberate intention from the wielder. And this aligned with Yeso''s principles; resorting to violence was never his first response.


    With his hand firmly on the dagger, he moved cautiously towards the source of the growl, prepared for whatever he might encounter.


    Yeso cautiously traced the source of the ferocious sound, his movements akin to a prey rather than a predator. He trod the path leading close to the ormsaat, staying low to the ground, expertly blending with his surroundings to remain undetected.


    Each step ensured he made no sound. As he drew closer, what he witnessed stopped him in his tracks, presenting a scene he never anticipated facing in his lifetime.


    There, before him, was the Howling Night, Noctavia''s wolf, lying on the ground in a state of distress that was painfully evident. The mighty creature appeared debilitated, its mouth drooling and foaming, while its legs twitched and convulsed as if caught in a futile attempt to escape some unseen terror.


    "Howl?" Yeso''s concern overrode any sense of caution. He swiftly sheathed his blade and rushed to the Spirit''s side. "Howl, what happened?" he asked.


    Confronted with Howl''s distressing state, Yeso found himself torn. He couldn''t bear to leave Howl in such a condition, yet the necessity to locate Noctavia was more pressing than ever. The thought haunted him - what if Noctavia had succumbed to a fate similar to her Spirit?


    Desperate for any clue, Yeso pleaded with the Howling Night. "Please talk to me, buddy. Where is she?"


    "Traitor..." The word, barely more than a strained whisper, escaped Howl''s snout.


    "Who?" Yeso''s brow furrowed in confusion, trying to make sense of the cryptic accusation. Who could Howl be referring to?


    "Traitor! Verratung!" Howl summoned every ounce of his strength to articulate these words. His voice degraded with pain and effort.


    "I need more than that," Yeso urged. "Tell me what you need; help me to help you so we can find her. I''m begging you."


    But the wolf''s condition seemed to deteriorate, his ability to speak dwindling rapidly. All he could manage were pained growls and whimpers, leaving Yeso with more questions than answers.


    Bewildered and anxious, Yeso tried to soothe the agitated wolf, gently stroking his fur. He could sense the Spirit''s saatgut waning, slipping through his fingers like sand. "No, no, no... hold on, please hold on. Think about your Master. Think about how heartbroken she''ll be if you''re gone, alright?" Yeso''s voice was on the verge of breaking. "I mean, she still has to give you plenty of belly rubs, right? Buddy?"


    In a surprising burst of strength, Howl responded, "Look! Look around from above."


    "Look around from above? What do you mean?" Yeso started to look up at the canopy of trees, seeking any sign or clue. "I don''t see anything."


    "From above! You bird..." Howl managed to snarl, his voice strained, ending in a cough.


    Realizing what Howl meant, Yeso gently laid the wolf on the grass and began to remove his robe, revealing his hidden wings. As the robe fell to his feet, his majestic wings unfurled and stiffened, ready for flight.


    With a powerful thrust, Yeso took to the air, soaring above Howl''s position. He flew higher, each beat of his wings carrying him further into the sky.


    From this elevated vantage point, things started to fall into place. The higher he flew, the clearer the situation became, offering him a perspective that was impossible from the ground.


    Hovering above, Yeso observed Howl lay at the centre of a charred circle, distinctly divided into four quadrants. Each section bore a symbolic representation: one held the emblem of a cup, another depicted a sword, and a third featured what appeared to be a wand or perhaps a branch.


    Most ominously, in the quadrant where the coin symbol should have been, there was instead the chilling image of a human skull.


    This sight struck a chord of recognition in Yeso. The layout bore a resemblance to the alchemical design he had once created for Xendrix, a design intended to enable the human to summon him. However, the modifications were glaringly evident from this height.


    It was inconceivable that a human could comprehend and manipulate alchemy to such an extent and in such a short time. The Prince had been with them for around six moons. How did he accomplish this?


    No, Xendrix had duped them all, and this was the only logical conclusion Yeso could draw. He began to question the previous events: the spider massacre, once deemed an accident by a clueless human, now seemed like a deliberate act. Could it be that Xendrix had intended to bring those creatures to life using necromancy? Was necromancy, indeed, his plan all along?


    But even a Menschen would need aeons to learn all the complex web that builds alchemy. There was no way that Xendrix, with his age, would have surpassed a Magi. Unless he wasn¡¯t human? No! Noctavia told him he bleed red. How?


    What was Xendrix''s ultimate goal? And crucially, why was Noctavia involved in this dark scheme?


    As Yeso descended and his feet once again touched the ground, a heavy weight of guilt settled over him. In a moment of devastating clarity, he realized that the blame lay at his feet. He hadn''t just provided Xendrix with the Invoka mir Ketten, a powerful piece of alchemy; he had also, perhaps most damningly, revealed Noctavia''s true name when he was too spirited by ale ¨C Zonnestra Duvencrune.


    This act, born from a misplaced trust, had potentially opened a door for Xendrix to exploit their bond and use Noctavia as a pawn in his twisted game.


    The gravity of his error was overwhelming. Yeso understood that he had inadvertently armed Xendrix with the very tools he needed to enact his plan, whatever that may be.


    But first, he needed The Howling Night.


    <blockquote>


    Teaching alchemy is an immensely challenging endeavour, especially for human students or others with little to no magic exposure. Before delving into the complex interplay of shapes, forms, words, and their various layers in alchemy, I find it essential to first explain the concept of magic itself, which takes longer than just one semester. While I agree that it''s a complex subject, it''s not beyond cognition. However, I''ve observed that those with red blood typically require double, if not triple, the time to grasp these concepts. And personally, as a professor, I don''t mind, and I''m more than happy to teach at their own pace. However, I saw many students drop my classes for the same reasons. And there is nothing I can do. As an academic professor, my learning journey is ongoing. Every day, I learn and discover new insights, identify more efficient methods, and focus on enhancing my teaching approach for my students. In response to your question in mind, no, it is unrealistic to expect a mastery of alchemy within six moons. Even from infancy to one''s mid-twenties, achieving the level of mastery that Xendrix Kaspian displayed is virtually impossible. It''s simply not feasible unless... ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0049] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Vem raus, vem raus


    Phrase


    Translation: Come out, come out


    Definition: "Vem raus, vem raus" is a chant in the Menschen language, invoking positive energies or spirits. The phrase is used in a variety of contexts, from traditional rituals to daily affirmations, where the speaker wishes to call forth good things, blessings, or favorable circumstances, it is specially used by children.


    </blockquote>


    Cradling the wolf in his arms, Howl was still spasming and convulsing. Yeso could only survey his surroundings, looking for an answer, something to help Noctavia''s Spirit. Anything.


    He was no healer, and his knowledge did not extend to the kind of aid Howl so urgently required. Helplessness gripped him; he needed the wolf more than ever to play a critical role in saving his Hexe.


    He needed the Howling Night to bend the fabric of time. With Howl''s power, journeys that would normally span over a week could be traversed in mere seconds. Yet, in his current state, Howl was powerless to assist.


    Time was of the essence, and with each passing moment, Noctavia''s predicament could only grow more perilous. Yeso''s resolve hardened ¨C he needed to find a way to Keblurg, rescue Noctavia, and confront the traitorous Xendrix, whatever it took. But he couldn''t. Not like this, Howl was part of his Hexe; if he was suffering, so was she.


    For a creature, a Menschen, who was the Master of the Sun, he felt suddenly quite human.


    "Take him to the ormsaat."


    Hearing a chippering voice from behind, Yeso quickly turned his head over his shoulder. It was a familiar sound that he easily recognised. It was the one that had assisted Noctavia during their son¡¯s birth.


    "Who are you?" Yeso asked, curious but with a slight wariness. Despite the helpful role this creature had played during Orlo''s birth, their sudden appearance at such a critical moment made Yeso cautious yet hopeful for assistance.


    The girl with striking white hair and red eyes, cradling an ember eye in her hands, responded in a stoic tone, "I don''t think we have time for that. Take him to the ormsaat; we need to have a talk with an annoying fish."


    Her words left no room for further questions at the moment, "A very annoying fish!" she kept complaining while walking in the direction of the ley line node.


    Yeso understood that introductions and explanations would have to wait another time, but he didn''t really care at this point. The priority was clear ¨C to get Howl to the ormsaat as quickly as possible and confront whatever awaited them there.


    Did she say a fish?


    The ormsaat was only a short distance away. Yeso scooped up Howl, holding him as securely as possible while the Spirit continued to convulse in his arms. Navigating the brief distance, they soon reached the edge of the pond.


    Upon arriving, the woman with the white hair and red eyes gestured towards the water. "Get inside with him," she instructed firmly.


    Hesitant, Yeso complied with her request. As he stepped into the water with Howl still in his arms, a swirl of questions enveloped his thoughts. He was beginning to suspect that this girl was more than she appeared, possibly a Spirit herself. But if that was true, which Spirit could she be?


    "Go on, activate it!" she commanded.


    "With Howl? I''ve never done it with a Spirit!"


    "It will be fine. We need the ormsaat to link with the one in Pollux," she said, her instructions crisp and clear.


    Yeso was taken aback by her knowledge. The revelation that there was a node within the Palace of the Elven King in Pollux was news to him. Finnegan, it seemed, had withheld this information from Jaer, or if he had shared it, Jaer had never passed it on to Yeso, which was unlikely. He and the tiefling were like blood brothers; Jaer would never hide such important information.


    Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Yeso began the process of activating the ormsaat. Triggering a ley line, under normal circumstances, required a state akin to falling asleep ¨C a deep relaxation and focus that allows one to tap into the energy flow.


    However, with his mind swirling with concern and turmoil, finding that tranquil state was proving to be a challenge, even for someone as experienced as Yeso.


    He attempted to calm his racing thoughts, focusing on taking deep, measured breaths. To further ease into the necessary state of relaxation, he gently ran his fingers through Howl''s wet fur, the repetitive motion helping to steady his nerves. The tactile sensation under his fingertips served as a grounding mechanism, drawing him away from his worries and closer to the serene mindset required to activate the ley line.


    But the anguish of not knowing the real danger surrounding Noctavia made it impossible. He was constantly pulled back.


    "Think of her," the woman instructed, aiming to guide his focus.


    Yeso tried again. He centred his thoughts on Noctavia, his own slice of heaven. His Hexe. However, the gnawing fear and uncertainty surrounding her current plight clawed at his mind. The notion that she was in some unknown danger, the specifics of which he couldn''t fathom, whipped his thoughts into a frenzy akin to a hurricane, engulfing him in its chaotic embrace.


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    As he struggled with these emotions, Yeso could feel his skin starting to crack, revealing the glowing golden veins of the Sun beneath.


    "No! Her!"


    "Who are you talking about?" Yeso asked, starting to lose his temper.


    "Think of the Summerqueen," she said.


    The mention of the Summerqueen instantly clicked in Yeso''s mind - she was referring to Eura. But how could this be? His mind reeled with more questions.


    Eura''s circumstances were well known to him: she was essentially a captive within her own timeline and realm, subjected to cruelty, neglect, and isolation. Her life would be one of suffering, with only Jaer to give her moments of peace and love.


    As he processed this information, a vivid memory flashed through his mind: the vision he had at the Capitol. He recalled a scene where Jaer had given Eura a book, a seemingly simple gesture of kindness. But then, her voice, reading aloud, had revealed the true name of the author - Orlo Yeso Sternacht. - Orlo, his son.


    And then his mind went further away. Further away.


    Yeso found himself in a verdant oasis, a lush garden replete with towering green trees, dense bushes, and elegant whitestone arches of Elvish architecture. This exquisite scene surrounded a tranquil pond, its edge adorned with vibrant flora and floating lotus blooms.


    As he looked around, his attention fell upon a young girl, no more than six, making her way towards the lake. She was a stark contrast to the last image he had of her.


    Carefully brushed diamond hair fell around her shoulders, crowned by a tiara fashioned from some precious metal, gleaming in the daylight. Curiously, she wore earrings, giving her round ears the pointy shape of an elf¡¯s. Her dress, fit for a princess, flowed around her in gentle folds. And a smile of pure joy played on her lips, radiating happiness and innocence, so different from his last vision of her.


    "Vem raus, vem raus, wherever you are!" she called out in a melodious voice, almost singing. "Come out, come out..."


    Her playful summons was interrupted by a splash from the pond. Water arched into the air, catching the sunlight to create a fleeting rainbow over her head. From the disturbed water emerged two creatures, initially resembling Koi Carps, dancing and twirling in the air. But as Yeso watched, they transformed, taking on their true form - one mere.


    The creature was a slender humanoid, its forms adorned with pearl-like scales that made its skin shimmer. In the dappled light, they almost resembled an Elf, save for the scales that undulated gracefully around their forms.


    "What do you want, you pestering child?" inquired the Spirit, its voice steeped in stoicism yet tinged with a hint of annoyance. From the timbre, Yeso surmised it belonged to a male mere, or was it female?


    "I brought biscuits!" she declared with a triumphant beam, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "One hundred and two delicious biscuits!"


    "And what am I supposed to do with... biscuits?" The mere''s response came not as a genuine query but more as a disdainful scoff, clearly bemused by the child''s offering.


    "I made them... well, I helped Jaja make them. Try one," she urged, hoisting the heavy basket up towards the mere. ¡°they are really good. I thought you were always grumpy because you are hungry?¡±


    "I do not want one. It is not what I desire!" the mere retorted, lacking patience.


    "It would be easier if you just told me what you want," she replied, a note of frustration in her voice. ¡°If it¡¯s not flowers, if it¡¯s not paper boats, if it¡¯s not bean bracelets, if it¡¯s not biscuits, well¡­ what do you want? What would make you happy? Hugs?¡±


    The mere responded cryptically, "It is far more entertaining to watch you figure it out, Sun which burns over land, sea, and sky."


    ¡°One hundred and two hugs?¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    "You''re mean," she muttered, placing the basket gently on the ground. Then, her expression softened, and with arms wide open, she asked innocently, "You are sure you don¡¯t want a hug?"


    At her words, the mere underwent a transformation, its form shifting into something more delicate and curvy, resembling a woman.


    "Are you mocking me?" the mere questioned, its tone now higher-pitched yet still dripping with bitterness.


    "You are always angry and mean. It sounds like you need a friend," Eura responded, her arms still outstretched, offering the hug.


    "Eura!"


    At the sound of her name, the little girl turned her head, and at that moment, the mere vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.


    "Eura, what are you doing?" Jaer approached her, almost running.


    "I was talking to the fish," she pointed towards the pond.


    Jaer''s expression grew serious. "What have we agreed about that?"


    Eura''s gaze dropped to the ground, and her voice was hesitant, almost as if she struggled to get the words out. "I can''t go to the pond alone... I need to ask father or Jaja first. But..." She looked up at Jaer with eyes resembling those of a pleading puppy, "They need a friend."


    "They are dangerous and vicious," Jaer cautioned firmly. ¡°You can¡¯t just trust them because they are a Spirit!¡±


    "Well, they sound like father. But father is not dangerous or vicious," she countered innocently. Jaer crouched down to her level, his eyes softening. "I truly hope the world doesn''t change you, my little Sunbeam. You are too good to be true."


    She looked back at the pond wistfully. "They didn''t like the biscuits. We need something else. I tried the hugs again. They still don¡¯t want any hugs. Who doesn¡¯t like huggies?"


    Jaer glanced at the wet baskets and the ruined biscuits, clicking his tongue in mild disappointment. They had devoted a great deal of time and effort to prepare them. Standing up, he lifted Eura into his arms and began walking away from the pond. "It''s their loss; those biscuits were delicious!" he reassured her, trying to lighten the mood, ¡°And if they didn¡¯t want any Huggies, the more for me!¡±


    Yeso''s eyes snapped open, and he immediately became aware of the ley lines etched into his skin, a network of energy pulsing through his limbs with an electric sensation. He had succeeded. He had activated the node. Howl, still in his arms, continued to convulse, it was evident that the wolf was gradually losing strength.


    At the pond''s edge, the woman with white hair, cradling an eye in her hands, nodded at him. The moment had arrived.


    "Vem raus, vem raus, wherever you are!" Yeso called out, echoing the words from his vision, ready to face whatever awaited them next.


    <blockquote>


    Over the course of my career, I''ve had the privilege of teaching at almost every university across Mir-Grande-Carta. Interestingly, I never pursued a position at Ormgrund¡ªyou would guess why at this time, right? Despite their persistent letters, invitations and gifts. My primary focus remained on Regulus in Ostesh, a place I grew quite fond of, along with its students. I can''t recall any of my classes ever having an empty seat. During the summers, many students came and went, leaving lasting impressions with their unique personalities and talents. One particular student stands out in my memory, and this was only a few summers ago, relatively recent as I write this chapter. There was something strikingly familiar about him. It was like I saw him in every single class I taught for centuries. Maybe he had one of these faces. We even joked about it, especially when he mentioned his name. I remember teasing him, suggesting that his parents must not have been too fond of him to name him Xendrix. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0050] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Por Verzculpa


    Phrase


    Translation: Please, I earnestly seek forgiveness / Please, accept my sincere apology


    Definition: A respectful and heartfelt request for forgiveness. This expression is used in situations where one seeks to convey not just remorse, but also a strong desire for reconciliation and understanding. It reflects a profound acknowledgment of one''s mistakes and a sincere plea for pardon.


    </blockquote>


    "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"


    The hum of the ley lines resonated around the lake until the tranquillity was shattered by a violent splash that erupted from the water''s surface. Yeso''s eyes widened as he recognized the creatures from his vision ¨C the Koi Carps, the Spirit of the Two-headed Fish.


    As the water cascaded, a Spirit emerged. Its form was fluid and ever-changing. Covered in white, pearl-like scales, the Spirit bore a resemblance to an elf yet lacked the characteristic pointed ears, which instead took on a shape more akin to sea shells.


    Their features were in a constant state of metamorphosis, never settling long enough to give a clear indication of their exact appearance. Its form shifted subtly, altering simple shapes and even gender, presenting an ethereal, almost otherworldly presence that defied any concrete definition, just like water.


    The Spirit fixed its narrow eyes on Yeso with evident indignation. "How dare you summon me, dragging me out from my garden¡­ you filthy¡­thing?" the Spirit asked, echoing over the water.


    "I need your help. The Howling Night needs your help!" Yeso urged, turning his full attention towards the wolf, still convulsing.


    "Howling Night, what a ridiculous name he chose for himself," the mermaid-like figure scoffed with disdain. They moved gracefully across the surface of the lake, each step seeming to lightly touch the shimmering golden ley lines that glowed beneath them. Their movements were fluid like water as if they were tiptoeing on the very essence of magic itself.


    "Koimar!" the woman with vivid red eyes called out, "We need you!"


    "The little pup, you mean?" Koimar responded, and their bile with sarcasm was drenched in every word.


    The woman, still cradling an eye between her hands, said, "Echternach is trying to vanquish the End of Times."


    Upon hearing this, Koimar''s form shifted into that of a male, their expression one of scepticism.


    "The End of Times? Do you take me for a fool? It''s already unfolding! Everything is coming to an end, Marie-Hex. There''s nothing left to save!"


    Caught in the midst of the escalating confrontation between the two Spirits, Yeso finally intervened, "That''s not true!"


    Koimar, moving fluidly across the water''s surface, approached Yeso. He crouched down, eyeing Yeso intently, and asked, "Are you accusing me of lying?"


    ¡°It¡¯s not the end. I saw it.¡± Yeso, despite the tremor of uncertainty that threatened his composure, stood resolute in his words. "I have seen it... you have my word; whatever is about to happen, it won¡¯t be today," he declared, but his voice revealed a subtle shake.


    "How can you be certain of such a thing?" the mermaid-like Spirit questioned, returning to its female form.


    Yeso simply responded, "I''ve had a vision, a small but very clear glimpse of the future." He spoke unwavering despite the doubt in his eyes. "To validate my words, I am prepared to offer you one hundred and two of whatever it is that you most desire."


    His statement was more than a mere assertion; it was a daring proposition, hinging entirely on the last vision he had with Eura. He knew one hundred and two biscuits would not be the answer, but one hundred and two of something else would be.


    "One hundred and two... but how can you possibly know what I truly desire?" the Spirit queried, rising slowly to its full height. "Who are you to presume my wants and needs? Do you see yourself as my master?"


    The scorn in Koimar¡¯s voice continued, "Of us three, I am the only one who has maintained its dignity. Its freedom! To think of serving a mortal... such a disgusting farce." The Spirit shifted form once again and changed back to its previous.


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    Koimar pondered the number, "One hundred and two," they echoed thoughtfully.


    "Yes, one hundred and two," Yeso affirmed.


    "And all that''s required of me is to heal the little mutt?" they clarified, their tone shifting as they contemplated the proposition.


    Yeso gave a simple, affirmative nod in response. His offer hung in the balance, a daring gamble on his part but one he was willing to take in order to save Noctavia.


    "Very well," they agreed, their form shifting back into the male version as they dove into the water. In a swift, fluid motion, the Dual-Headed Fish re-emerged, grasping Howl''s head and forcefully submerging the wolf as if to drown him.


    Yeso and Marie-Hex tensed, ready to intervene, but before they could act, instead of a wolf, a new figure emerged from the water. It was a Noitelven, a young elf with dark blue hair and grey skin that seemed to be imbued with tiny stars.


    He staggered to the edge of the lake, coughing violently. Cough after cough, until a final forceful one, he purged hundreds of tiny black spiders that crawled from his mouth and ran away into the grass.


    Marie-Hex rushed to his side, "Howl, are you alright?"


    "Yeah... I''m fine... But I need to leave," he managed to say, turning to Yeso with haste in his eyes. "We have to go now!"


    The Two-Headed Fish Spirit looked on, its smirk fading as it fixed Yeso with a piercing gaze. "Well, it appears my assistance is no longer required," it remarked. "One hundred and two, then. I shall await your fulfilment of the promise, Sun who burns land, sea, and sky."


    With those final words, the Spirit plunged back into the depths of the lake, leaving Yeso to ponder the gravity of the vow he had just made. But that promise wouldn''t be part of his story. Forgive me, Eura.


    Echternach, known to all as the Howling Night, struggled out of the water. His body felt heavy. He collapsed onto his back on the lakeshore, gasping for air in desperate gulps. Yeso moved closer to him, concerned, while Marie-Hex tended to her friend, offering reassuring words, "You''ll be okay. You¡¯ll be okay."


    Howl turned his gaze towards Yeso, yet all he could muster was a confession laced with resignation. "I tried. I tried so many times. But the Dreamer... He made his choice."


    Yeso''s voice faltered with the sudden realisation and grieved almost in despair. "She''s..." he began, his words trailing off, cracking with tears that could no longer be contained. "No... not Zonnestra... I didn''t hex her for this..." Yeso could barely grapple with the reality of the situation.


    The Howling Night, struggling to compose himself, grasped Yeso firmly in his arms and, in a subdued whisper, said, "There was no other way. It was a choice between you and her, and he chose his daughter. I can''t prevent the End of Times alongside you and my Master. It''s beyond us. I need to start anew; it''s the only way to save everyone else, even if it''s just temporary."


    Yeso, overwhelmed by the Howling Night''s cryptic revelation, reacted with violent frustration. He pushed the Spirit away, his voice rising in disbelief and anger. "What the hell are you talking about?"


    Marie-Hex quickly stepped between the two, attempting to mediate the escalating tension. "Yeso, regardless of what we do, the End of Times is inevitable. The Howling Night has been showing me what''s happened. All of this," she gestured broadly to their surroundings, "has already unfolded. You''ve already played your part, as have your Hexe. I''m in the process of learning every piece of information or event I¡¯m studying! I am trying to understand where, in the weave of reality, we might find a remedy. Where my Master can step in and make a difference. Reshape the very fabric of Time and Space to a version we don''t end it all."


    "Your Master?" Yeso''s voice didn''t quite translate his emotions, manifesting through the crackling of golden veins that appeared across his skin. As he was about to burst, he suddenly witnessed a startling transformation ¨C Marie-Hex morphed into a small white mouse before his eyes.


    "Your master is..." Yeso trailed off. His sentence was left hanging as he processed the sight.


    "He is the Dreamer," the Howling Night explained, "That''s why your son always sleeps so much. After all, how else could he dream? He dreams of the realities, the paths not taken, and the possible futures. He''s essential in our quest against the inevitable End of Times."


    "Orlo chose..." Yeso''s voice faltered, barely able to articulate the words, the realization dawning upon him with a heavy weight. ¡°Eura...¡±


    "Your granddaughter, and your¡­" the Howling Night responded but didn¡¯t dare to reveal it all, reassuming his form of a majestic black wolf, his fur interwoven with patterns reminiscent of the night sky. "I cannot save you and my Master from what''s to come, but I can ensure that you are together until the very end." His words, though sombre, carried a promise of unity obscured by the now and what was to come.


    As Noctavia said since the beginning, "Mir fado."


    <blockquote>


    I recount those thoughtful moments spent alone in my office, gazing out at the traffic and reevaluating the decisions of my life with too many whiskeys in my gut. I''ve often found myself in such ruminations, questioning whether the choices I made were the right ones. Did my actions, which may have adversely affected many, truly justify the happiness of a few? To those who criticized my doings, I often ask them: How many children do you have? Are you a part of their lives? Do they reach out to you? Call, text, or something? Were you there to protect them when they needed you most? I am certain that if faced with similar circumstances, my father would have chosen me above all else. In the same vein, I have chosen my child above everything. Unlike many fathers, I have never experienced the joy of holding my child in my arms. This longing made me go on; I cannot bear the thought of leaving this world without knowing what that feels like. How does she smell? ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0051] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Erspar tu


    Phrase


    Translation: Spare the other


    Definition: "Erspar tu" is a phrase used to implore mercy for someone else. It''s a heartfelt plea to abstain from causing harm or executing punishment.


    </blockquote>


    There, on the wooden floor stage, lay a woman with golden hair. Her petite frame was clad in the traditional attire of the Menschen. She was convulsing and foaming from her stitched mouth.


    What''s more, in her dire condition, it almost looked like she was struggling against an unseen adversary, her body squirming in a silent battle against an invisible force. This haunting image left the onlookers both horrified and perplexed, wondering what dark forces could be responsible for such a sinister act. And yet, it was obvious.


    Seeing a Menschen with her eyes and mouth cruelly stitched shut cast a chilling hush over the grand halls of Kaspian Castle Coronation festivities. The sight was unsettling, leaving both noble and commoner alike with a deep sense of unease, a clear and sharp acknowledgement that something malevolent was afoot.


    Xendrix''s smile broadened with a sense of pride and triumph. He was keenly aware of the advantage he now held. In his possession was a formidable arsenal, a creation of his own magic - forty-four creatures made of Nightmare, and one being of unparalleled might: the Master of the Howling Night, the former Noctavia of the Dame. And at Xendrix''s eye, a true goddess who could manipulate time.


    This collection was more than just a display of strength; it was a statement of his mastery over the arcane as a human. And all he needed to achieve his grand ambitions was a name, a task that had proven to be far simpler than he had initially anticipated.


    Humans now had the capacity to wield magic, and they would know how to harness power effectively - if Xendrix was willing to share ¨C yet nevertheless, he stood as living proof of this fact.


    As Xendrix observed Noctavia, still writhing in her silent struggle, he commanded authoritatively, "Stop and stand up!"


    At his words, Noctavia''s movements ceased abruptly, her limbs tensing as she exerted an almost Herculean effort to rise. She stood upright, her posture rigid, resembling a statue in her stillness.


    The crowd, witnessing this display of control, let out an almost collective gasp, a reaction that further fueled Xendrix''s megalomaniacal thirst for power. The sight of him exerting such dominance over a Menschen only served to reinforce the fear he was seeding in each one present.


    "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the most formidable among them, my own personal Magi!" Xendrix announced, spreading his arms wide in a grandiose gesture.


    ¡°Xendrix!¡±


    Amidst the stunned silence, a lone voice from the crowd finally dared to challenge the spectacle. "What is the meaning of this?"


    "Ah, Orlan, my dear old nemesis, at last, you speak up," Xendrix replied, his smile widening as he took two steps closer to the king of Spiyles.


    "What are you playing at? First, you resurrect the dead, and now you enslave a Menschen with dark magic? What is all this? Have you lost your mind? Are you seeking war with Ormgrund? Is that your aim here?" Orlan accused, yet the dread in his questions was too close to home.


    "Why not? Who would dare to stop me?" Xendrix''s smile grew even broader, his confidence unshaken. "You, Orlan?" His questioning, rhetoric, and mocking.


    King Orlan cast his gaze around the room, taking in the faces of those assembled in the grand hall. Kings and queens, nobles, banking investors, property moguls ¨C the elite of Keblurg, all influential figures, were present.


    His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Xendrix''s audacious display of madness. "You foolish child, you are..." he began, but his words were abruptly cut off.


    A sharp pain erupted in Orlan''s abdomen, and as he looked down, he saw his own sword impaled in his gut. Blood spilt from his mouth as he staggered, realization and shock converging in his fading gaze. In his last moments, his eyes fixed on the Menschen woman on the stage, motionless yet with her hands ominously stained with red blood. It was a harrowing and final sight, signalling not just his end but perhaps the End of Times.


    As his body crumpled to the floor, a collective fright rippled through the crowd, quickly turning into a tide of panic and confusion.


    Nobles and dignitaries, who moments ago had been immersed in sophisticated conversation and polite laughter, now scrambled in a frantic bid to escape. The clang of overturned chairs and shattering glass filled the air as people pushed and shoved, desperately trying to find the nearest exit.


    Servants and guards, equally taken aback, were swept up in the turmoil, their attempts to maintain order swallowed by the frenzy. The tall, ornate doors became a bottleneck, with guests trampling over one another in their terror-fueled rush to flee the castle''s walls.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Amidst the pandemonium, Noctavia remained eerily still on the stage, a silent watch amidst the storm of hysteria. Her presence was feared by the ominous red blood on her hands and tears hiding behind her stitches.


    In an instant, the frenzied chaos of the court was replaced by an eerie, absolute stillness. Time itself had come to a standstill, freezing every person, every object in place. The once frantic movements of the nobles, their desperate attempts to escape, were now captured in a grotesque tableau, their expressions of terror and shock permanently etched on their faces.


    The clinking of glasses, the rustle of silk gowns, the panicked cries ¨C all had ceased abruptly, leaving a silence so profound it felt almost oppressive.


    Xendrix strolled through the tableau of frozen figures, each one suspended in their last moment of panic. He casually pulled out a chair amidst the motionless chaos and seated himself with a self-satisfied air.


    "It''s quite the spectacle, isn''t it?" he remarked, a twisted smile playing on his lips.


    His gaze then shifted to Noctavia, still and silent like the rest but well aware. "There was always something unique about you, but I never fully grasped the magnitude of it," he mused, his eyes lingering on her. "With your power, you could have done anything, eliminated anyone who stood in your path. Yet you chose to be the loyal slut of a fool. You guys have a word for that... what was it? Vacahure somthing, right?" His laughter echoed through the silent hall, a sound that was almost hysterical in its glee.


    "Where is he now, your lovely commander? Where''s your charming prince to rescue you?" Xendrix taunted, his voice dripping with contempt.


    He rose from his chair and began to walk leisurely among the motionless crowd. Unsheathing his sword with a casual, almost elegant motion, he methodically started stabbing the frozen figures one by one.


    His movements were slow and conscious, as if he had relished every moment and had all the time in the world to indulge in this delightful macabre act.


    Even a whistle escaped his lips, a tune that seemed oddly out of place in the grim setting, transforming the act into a bizarrely joyful pursuit.


    Having finished his gruesome task, slashing and stabbing at the last motionless figure, Xendrix turned his attention back to Noctavia. "Put everything in motion again," he commanded.


    At his word, the bodies that had been suspended in time began to collapse one after the other. The screams and frantic efforts to escape, now amplified by fresh terror, resumed with renewed vigour. The crowd that was left once frozen in a moment of horror was now a chaotic mass scrambling desperately for safety.


    With a sharp, two-fingered whistle, Xendrix signalled to the lurking nightmares. They emerged, responding to his command, ready to ''finish the job'' as he had indicated.


    The Lamias quickly showed their true faces, each adorned with six obsidian eyes, and descended upon the panicking crowd with a voracious speed and appetite.


    The living thronged and stumbled in their desperate attempts to flee, stepping even on the fresh corpses. Each Lamia was able to snatch victims with an eerie precision. The sound of torn flesh and their chewing was chilling - a sickening slurping as they drained the blood of their hapless victims.


    The air was polluted with the scent of fear, blood and rotten death, a macabre aroma that seemed to invigorate the Nightmares even further. And Xendrix was mesmerised.


    Their feeding frenzy was relentless and indiscriminate, cutting down nobles and servants alike. Expensive fabric, shiny jewellery, pale skin, and leather coats all were now stained and torn. Their bodies were left lifeless in the wake of the creatures'' insatiable hunger.


    By the time the Lamias had sated their thirst, the floor of the grand hall was coated with a macabre tapestry of the dead. Bodies lay strewn across the stone floor, their final expressions frozen in terror. The grandeur of the castle was now marred by the grim reality of death, the echoes of the night''s atrocities that none could fathom.


    Noctavia remained motionless in her corner, her vision partially obscured by the threads that sealed her eyes. Through the narrow slits of her eyelids, she helplessly witnessed the horrific massacre happening around her.


    Immobilised, she was unable to intervene, scream, or even move. Desperately, she tried to find in her mind a weak point in Xendrix''s spellwork, a way to break free from the alchemical bonds he had placed upon her, but the specifics of his sigils eluded her.


    She felt a connection to Xendrix, an insidious link that mirrored the bond she shared with Yeso but twisted and vile. This connection repulsed her; it was a violation, a corruption of her very essence. Her Saatgut within her screamed for release, yearning to be cleansed of this defilement.


    For the first time in her long existence, Noctavia found herself wishing for death. She longed to spare Yeso the agony of witnessing this carnage, the senseless spilling of blood orchestrated by Xendrix. In her heart, with the last vestiges of her strength, she uttered a silent prayer to any force that might be listening, "Please, don''t let him come. Spare him from this."


    "Please, I beg you, spare him," she whispered inwardly.


    Deep down, Noctavia understood Xendrix''s plan for Yeso. The thought of it filled her with dread, an unbearable notion that Yeso might fall into the same trap she had.


    "Erspar tu!"


    <blockquote>


    In nearly every class I''ve taught, there''s always been at least one student puzzled about how nodes and ley lines function. It''s both frustrating and disappointing for a teacher to feel unable to communicate such a fundamental concept effectively. Then, one day, that tormenting question pops up again: "How does it work?" Now, it''s important to understand that I''ve never been a sports enthusiast. Activities like football or volleyball, which many find engaging, seemed to me a waste of precious time that could be better spent nurturing the mind. However, on this particular day, I found an unexpected teaching aid in a football brought by one of my students. I asked for the ball and began my explanation: "This ball is a model of our world, the Map. It''s a globe orbiting the sun just as our nine moons orbit around us. Each hexagon on this ball represents a section of our world''s terrain. You''ll notice not all hexagons are the same; some are distinct, like these black ones and this many white ones. Let''s say the black ones represent nodes, and the white ones, well, they are not nodes. While the lines connecting them are ley lines, pathways for the transfer of information, resources, energy, whatever you can think of. For instance, this black spot could be Faewood, known for its dense forests and rich vegetation, and this other spot might be the Great Desert, the former site of Skoe Scana. If a node in Faewood and another in Skoe Scana were activated, resources could be transferred between them, and maybe the Great Desert would start to be green again." I felt a sense of pride in this analogy, and the students seemed to grasp finally the concept. That was until an unexpected question was raised: "Could someone travel through time using the nodes?" I was taken aback by the question and looked towards the last row, where it had originated. It was that boy again, Xendrix. His curiosity and insight never ceased to surprise me. But at the same time, something was wrong with this picture. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0052] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Pflege tu


    Phrase


    Translation: Be careful


    Definition: "Pflege tu" is a cautionary phrase, urging attentiveness and caution. This expression is commonly used in situations where there is potential for harm or error, encapsulating the Menschen''s value on prudence and foresight.


    </blockquote>


    Outside the castle gates, Zvoya paced back and forth, like a predator biding its time, waiting for the prey to venture close enough. In the distance, she could smell the distinct, odd scent of a wet dog and a warm pine aroma on damp earth. These smells, so peculiar and yet almost familiar, sharpened her focus. The Commander was near.


    In the background, a cacophony of screams, rips, and snaps filled her ears like a melody, the dreadful symphony of chaos wrought by her brothers and sisters within the castle walls. She smirked at the idea of the feast she was missing.


    While waiting and pacing, Zvoya found herself musing on her own nature, taking pride in the qualities she shared with her Master. She, too, valued to be a step ahead. To be ready for any possible scenario. In other words, to be creative in the worst-case scenario. But everything was going as planned. Like always.


    She had learned to control her urges and desires, understanding the critical importance of patience and waiting for the opportune moment to attack. As her Master told her, it becomes sweeter with the wait¡ªjust like a coin. A shiny little coin.


    Zvoya was the first among the forty-four Nightmares who perceived her role as not just another pawn in the game but a key player, a decisive weapon in her Master''s grand scheme. She was destined to be the one who would extinguish the Sun. And then she would sit at his side as an equal. Maybe even as a queen.


    In her mind, the moment to face the Sun was imminent, and she harboured no doubts about her victory. Crafted from magic akin to the Menschen and born of a Spirit, she was power. So, what chance could the Sun possibly have against a true Nightmare?


    Then came the sound, pulling her out of her reverie. A deep, resonant growl cut through the air, followed by the heavy, unmistakable footsteps of a beast. Zvoya''s eyes narrowed as she peered into the distance, her gaze drawn to a striking figure emerging on the horizon. There, illuminated by the moonlight, was a man with hair made of shimmering diamonds, riding atop the Howling Night itself.


    Yeso dismounted from Howl, landing squarely in front of Zvoya. She quickly took stock of his armaments, noting that he carried no weapon except a simple copper dagger. A flicker of delight crossed her mind at the thought of how effortlessly she could dispatch him, but her confidence wavered slightly as he spoke.


    "I wouldn''t get any closer if I were you," Yeso warned, turning to face her and walking towards her. His approach was neither slow nor aggressive; rather, it was measured as if he expected her to simply step aside and let him pass.


    "I could say the same, Blue-One," Zvoya retorted, standing her ground.


    "I''m serious. If you even attempt anything, I will kill you," Yeso replied, his tone calm, stripping the words of any overt threat.


    "And how do you plan to do that? With that little toyish dagger?" Zvoya taunted.


    In response, Yeso offered a knowing smirk, casting a brief glance at Howl. He then began to unbutton his robe, letting it gracefully fall to his feet. In a swift, fluid motion, he unfurled his wings. Contrary to their usual ethereal or ghostly appearance, his wings now bore a strikingly different look ¨C they blazed with a metallic sheen infused with an unknown golden energy coursing through each vein. The wings resembled sharps, metallic shields emerging from his back, lending him an imposing and formidable presence.


    With a serene yet deliberate motion, Yeso mimed the action of drawing a sword from its sheath. As his fists moved through the air, a line of blazing light materialized, coalescing into a sword made of pure, radiant sun. The moment he grasped the hilt and the tip of the sword touched the ground, the light transformed, turning the blade a deep, ominous black.


    Yeso held Zvoya''s gaze for a few tense seconds, his look serving as a silent ultimatum. It was her final opportunity to retreat, to reconsider the impending confrontation.


    "I am the Sun who burns land, sea and sky. I am the Master of the Golden Dragon! Would you think the Sun didn''t gift me, Nightmare?"


    She could feel the intense heat emanating from his wings and the sword, the warmth so intense it almost seemed to singe the hairs at the back of her neck. The air around them crackled, yet Zvoya''s reaction was swift, her entire being a finely tuned weapon. She was confident that with just one bite, Yeso would be turned, becoming one of her kind.


    With a rapid, decisive movement, she jerked her hand back, and from her wrist, a blade emerged, crafted from her own bone. Mirroring the action with her other hand, another bone blade materialized, rendering her armed and dangerously ready. But she had no chance even to step further to attack.


    Yeso deftly manoeuvred his blade towards Zvoya, and in a swift, almost imperceptible movement, he struck. Zvoya didn''t even register the sound of her bones shattering; all she felt was the acute, searing pain of her nerves being slashed. Her hands, suddenly numb and unresponsive, failed her.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Driven by desperation, she lunged at Yeso''s back, aiming to sink her teeth into his neck. As soon her teeth touched his skin, she heard a disheartening sound ¨C one of her canines chipping against the formidable defence he presented. Yeso skin was made of dragon scales.


    He reacted instantly, seizing her by the collar and effortlessly hurling her body over his head in an arching throw, slamming her onto the ground.


    As Yeso poised himself for a final, decisive strike, ready to sever her head from her body, Zvoya, in a last-ditch effort to save herself, cried out, "Wait! Please wait!" Her voice was the personification of panic and plea, a stark contrast to her earlier confidence as she faced the imminent threat of true death at the hands of the Menschen.


    "Ulencia, you know of her, right?" Zvoya gasped, her hand weakly pointing in a direction as she lay on the ground.


    "Ulencia is here?"


    "She''s pregnant! If you kill me, there''ll be no one left to care for her child," Zvoya blurted out, desperation clear in her voice.


    "She''ll come with me and my Hexe."


    "No, she won''t... she''s dead," Zvoya revealed, bracing herself for Yeso''s reaction. "She killed herself today."


    "What are you talking about?" Yeso''s grip on his sword loosened slightly, his stance softening with his confusion.


    "She took her own life, I don''t know why, but the fetus, the baby... it survived. I''ve kept it alive with some magic, and it''s growing," Zvoya explained hurriedly.


    "You''re turning it into..." Yeso began, suspicion in his tone.


    She interrupted him quickly, "No, I used actual magic. It''s human. If you kill me, there''ll be no one to look after it. I am its only chance."


    "If you''re lying to me..." Yeso''s voice trailed off as he tightened his grip on the sword.


    "I''m not lying. Let me go upstairs, take the baby out of her, and then I''ll disappear. You''ll never hear from me again," she swore earnestly, her eyes meeting his. "You won''t hear from me because you''d be dead," she thought silently to herself.


    "Go! But know this ¨C if I ever see you again, I won''t hesitate to kill you," Yeso warned sternly.


    Wasting no time, Zvoya scrambled to her feet and dashed into the castle, heading in the opposite direction of the festivity hall, her mind racing, but there was an inevitable smirk of victory on her lips. ¡°Just as planned.¡±


    "You should have killed her," Howl remarked, his gaze following Zvoya as she fled with haste.


    "It''s not her blood I''m after," Yeso replied.


    "Everything within these walls is our enemy," the wolf growled.


    "I just want her back. That''s all I''m here for," the Commander said as he began to step into the castle''s threshold. ¡°I want Zonnestra with my son and me. I want Zonnestra home.¡±


    Inside, the corridors were alive with the sounds of horror ¨C screams, pleas for mercy, the gruesome cracks and splashes of a relentless massacre. It was a cacophony of infernal chaos reverberating through the walls. The air was thick with the pungent odours of cabbage and garlic, so overpowering that Yeso nearly gagged. The stench, a stark reminder of the carnage within the castle, was almost too much to bear as he steeled himself to push forward.


    Yeso finally entered the hall, and the scene before him was a tableau of death and destruction. The floor was carpeted with bodies, a grim mosaic of the fallen. Some lay half-eaten, their final moments marked by the savagery of fangs and claws, while others bore the clean cuts of blades, their deaths swift yet no less tragic.


    Forty-three Lamias were leaping from one victim to another in a grotesque dance of death.


    "Look who''s arrived!" Xendrix exclaimed, rising from his chair with an air of twisted delight. He strode confidently towards Yeso, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The hero of the hour!"


    At his words, all forty-three Lamias ceased their grisly activities, their six eyes fixating on Xendrix, tracking his every move and hanging on his every word.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Yeso caught sight of Noctavia. Her blouse and skirt were completely drenched in blood, a mix of red and green hues painting a tragic picture. His heart might as well have shattered into a thousand pieces at the sight of her stitches. That explained the painful silence, the reason he couldn''t sense her. The realization struck him with a force greater than any physical blow.


    Ignoring Xendrix and his taunting spectacle, Yeso swiftly turned his back on him and rushed to Noctavia''s side. "Love, can you hear me?" he asked urgently, touching her hands. She remained unresponsive, not even a flicker of recognition. "Can you talk? If not, just nod your head." Still, there was no movement, no sign that she heard him. "Noctavia, please, give me a sign."


    Xendrix, observing the scene, interjected mockingly, "Oh, you need a sign?" With a snap of his fingers, he commanded, "Come here," treating Noctavia like a mere pet. To Yeso''s dismay, she began to walk towards Xendrix, obeying his call. "Good girl," Xendrix said with a smirk.


    As Yeso watched this exchange, his mind raced, trying to decipher the type of alchemy Xendrix had employed. Initially, he thought Xendrix had merely altered his signet, but it was evident there was more at play. The realization dawned on him that six moons ¨C the time Xendrix spent with the Menschen ¨C was insufficient to master the ability to raise the dead. There was something more profound, more sinister at work, and Yeso couldn''t understand what it was.


    As Yeso stood there, he tried to recall his first encounter with Xendrix, searching his memory for any clue that might have hinted at the dark path Xendrix would eventually take. He remembered a young man, eager and ambitious, whose stated desire was to learn alchemy for a noble cause ¨C to create a bridge between Menschen and Humans. And suddenly, he recalled that his sleeves were stained in red blood as well. How could this be related?


    "If the ''Blue-Ones'' leave, so will the centaurs, the dwarfs, and anyone else with magic. Ormburg will become a power vacuum. What''s stopping the Fallqueen from returning later when we have no chance?" These were the words Xendrix had used to convince his father to accept the deal.


    <blockquote>


    Although I hold a PhD in Global History, Cultures, and Politics, I consciously choose not to teach history. The reason is simple: the narrative surrounding the events following the First Winter has been so heavily distorted by layers of falsehoods, misinformation, and altered data that I cannot in good conscience impart such a skewed version of history to my students. Let''s take the story of the Kaspian dynasty as an example. What the world today, in its 555th Summer, generally accepts is a hoaxed narrative surrounding the Coronation of Xendrix Kaspian the First. It is widely believed that this event was marred by a brutal attack by Lamias, which spared no one, and that this mutiny was orchestrated by the Menschen as a political manoeuvre. Why? Well, no one seems to be able to invent a plausible justification. It is what it is. That''s what is taught in school. However, as a keen observer and a scholar, raised and born in the First Winter, I am acutely aware, and I believe¡ªyou too, dear reader¡ª would concur that the true sequence of events was vastly different from this popularly accepted version. But who am I to change the written story? I''m just a Dreamer. I make the story. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0053] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    I wish I could remember my mother''s smile. People say she was incredibly beautiful, but I can''t remember her face at all. Neither my father. I wish I could remember something, but all I can really say is... I''m sorry. I am sorry I don¡¯t remember you both. But I am so grateful for the life you both have prepared me for, For your love, your protection, thank you. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer (note scribbled on the first page.)


    </blockquote>


    "You think too much," Xendrix said, snapping Yeso out of back to reality. His tone was mocking as he circled around Noctavia, placing his hands possessively over her shoulders and sliding the palms of his hands over her arms. "That''s all you ever do. Think. And think, and think," he continued.


    "You think and do nothing. You are just a little dreamer, and that''s all you''ll ever be," Xendrix taunted, tightening his grip around Noctavia in a show of control and dominance.


    As Yeso watched this, his grip on the sword grew firmer, his knuckles whitening. The mockery in his words and the sight of Xendrix''s arms tightening around his Hexe, claiming ownership as if she were an object to be possessed, ignited a fire, a blaze, within Yeso. He had never been so close to exploding.


    "You know you can''t kill me, right? If you kill me, she joins me," Xendrix taunted, leaning in to kiss and lick Noctavia''s cheek with the smug air of a pet owner and someone who knows the game is rigged.


    "She does taste nice," he added, further provoking Yeso.


    Yeso''s eyes quickly scanned the room, taking note of the position of each Lamia. From where he stood, he could dispatch them swiftly, but such an action would require him to take his eyes off Xendrix.


    That could provide the King with an opportunity to cast a spell, the nature of which Yeso couldn''t even begin to guess. The situation demanded a strategic approach, as Yeso had to weigh his options, balancing the need to eliminate the immediate threat of the Lamias against the risk of losing sight of Xendrix and the potential danger he posed.


    "Thinking, thinking, and doing nothing. Let me help you with that," Xendrix said, his voice laced with malice. With a sharp whistle consisting of two distinct notes, the Lamias instantly raised their heads in alert.


    Xendrix''s command was clear, and the response from the Lamias was immediate. This was the signal Yeso had dreaded, the moment when thinking had to give way to action.


    As the Lamias surrounded Yeso, it was clear their attack would be coordinated, a deadly dance of forty-three Nightmare creatures all closing in on him almost simultaneously.


    As one Lamia was brave enough to lunge towards Yeso from behind, its teeth aimed to strike with deadly force. However, as it made contact, there was a sudden, audible crack. To the Lamia''s surprise, Yeso''s skin wasn''t vulnerable flesh but protected by his Spirit, covered in resilient, dragon-like scales.


    In that critical moment, Yeso''s instincts kicked in. He executed a sharp pivot as he turned to face the Lamia that had tried to bite him.


    With a swift and decisive thrust, he drove his sword straight through the creature''s body, impaling it with a lethal strike. The Lamia''s body jerked violently as the blade penetrated it.


    Without another moment''s hesitation, Yeso pulled the sword back, freeing it from the Lamia''s body. Almost simultaneously, another creature launched itself towards him, attempting to exploit the brief window of opportunity.


    However, Yeso was ready. With the same fluid motion, he redirected his sword and thrust it forward, plunging the blade deep into the chest of the oncoming attacker. The second Lamia was caught mid-leap, its body convulsing as the sword pierced through, stopping it dead in its tracks.


    Before he could fully regain his stance, two more Lamias dove at his feet, grasping them with their claws, causing Yeso to lose his balance. He fell backwards, but this position unexpectedly worked to his advantage. With a quick sweep of his wings, he severed the feet of four Lamias, turning their coordinated attack into a moment of vulnerability.


    Rolling to regain his footing, Yeso was immediately confronted by another Lamia directly in front of him while yet another approached from behind. So he spun around with his sword extended, decapitating the Lamia in front of him in one clean, deadly arc.


    The Lamia behind him, however, managed to dodge the blade at the last moment, reaching out to grab Yeso''s arm in the process. This sudden move caused Yeso to lose his grip on the sword, leaving him momentarily unarmed and vulnerable in the midst of the chaotic melee.


    Realizing the threat posed by Yeso''s sword, one of the Lamias swiftly kicked it, sending the weapon skittering across the hall, far out of his reach. Now unarmed, Yeso''s only remaining weapon was the small copper dagger in his belt, but in his current predicament, he found himself unable to reach it.


    In a coordinated effort, the surviving Lamias seized this opportunity. They lunged at Yeso, grabbing him by his arms, legs, head, and even his wings. Each creature''s grip was tight, their intentions horrifyingly clear. Yeso could feel the force of their pulls, each Lamia trying to tear him apart, their combined strength focused on dismembering him.


    Trapped in the ironclad hold of the Lamias, Yeso was rendered immobile, unable to defend himself or counterattack.


    Sudden and unexpected, Yeso''s skin began to crack into golden veins that pulsated with uncontrollable energy. These veins rapidly expanded, growing thicker and encompassing his entire body. Yeso could feel an intense, building pressure within him, a sensation of his very being about to burst forth.


    This was his Saatgut igniting, an involuntary reaction to the extreme stress and danger he was facing. He was no longer Master of himself. The power within him swelled by the second, an overwhelming surge that threatened to consume him. The energy built up to an almost unbearable intensity, signalling an imminent and catastrophic release.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    And then, in a juncture of explosive force, the pent-up energy erupted. A blight explosion of abrasive light burst forth from Yeso, radiating outwards in a blinding flash. The shockwave of this release was immense, a powerful and uncontrolled discharge of magical energy that cascaded through the hall, impacting everything and everyone in its vicinity.


    The explosion, though brief, lasting only a mere second, was immensely powerful. In the aftermath, Yeso found himself crouched on the ground, rapidly regaining control of his magic, pulling it back inside him but struggling to gather his strength.


    He hesitated to survey the destruction he had caused, fearing the worst ¨C had he inadvertently harmed Noctavia?


    Scared, Yeso finally raised his head, his gaze cautiously scanning the surroundings. The walls of the hall showed signs of the explosion''s intensity, with stone visibly melted and distorted from the blast. The floor where corpses had once laid was now covered in ashes and a few stubborn bones that had somehow withstood the impact.


    His heart pounding, Yeso searched desperately for Noctavia amidst the devastation. Relief washed over him as he finally spotted her. Despite the explosive force, she had survived, and so had Xendrix.


    Surprisingly, Noctavia had somehow managed to generate a protective ward time around them. Yeso struggled to comprehend how she had done this, considering Noctavia had never fully explored her potential in magic.


    To her, magic had been of little interest; she had the ability to stop time but never delved into the extent of her powers. Yeso surmised that, at this moment, Xendrix must have been pushing her to her limits, forcing her to tap into abilities she had never fully acknowledged or utilised.


    Meanwhile, Xendrix revelled in the chaos he had orchestrated, his laughter echoing through the hall. "Your face! Oh, by the Holy Mother, your face is priceless!" he exclaimed, barely able to speak through his fits of laughter.


    "Let her go, Xendrix," Yeso demanded, ¡°If it¡¯s me you want, let her go.¡±


    "Let her go? Why?"


    "What do you want?" Yeso asked.


    "I want what any human wants - not to die," Xendrix explained, turning to face Yeso. "I want immortality. To be immortal like you two."


    "I cannot give you that. Noctavia cannot give you that. It''s a myth; everything that is born needs to die. It''s the cycle of life," Yeso replied, trying to reason with him.


    "Oh, don''t worry about that. Yeso, I''ve already resolved that little mystery," Xendrix said with smug satisfaction. He chuckled at the end of his sentence, clearly pleased with whatever solution he had devised. ¡°It¡¯s sweet of you to think I was expecting you to teach me anything; no, no, no, you are not my mentor. Neither was she, but it was cute to see her try. My mentor is a God!¡±


    Yeso furrowed his brow as he looked at Xendrix, trying to piece together the puzzle while focusing on how to free Noctavia. Whatever grand, evil plot Xendrix was pursuing, it was of no interest to him. His priority was Noctavia''s safety and freedom, not the delusions of grandeur and immortality that Xendrix harboured.


    "Don''t you see how powerful, even more powerful than any spell or magic, is a simple name?" Xendrix mused, stepping away from Noctavia and beginning to pace around the hall. His movements had a theatrical quality as if he were performing on a stage, addressing an audience of one ¨C Yeso.


    "A name seems like just a key to a whole story, but have you ever noticed that once you know someone''s name, you never ask for it again?" he continued, stopping suddenly to face Yeso directly.


    "For example, Noctavia... I really thought her name was Noctavia Sternach. Everyone called her that, but then I noticed something about you," Xendrix said, his voice tinged with intrigue. He paused for a moment, turning his gaze back to Yeso. "You! You never called her Noctavia. You always referred to her as your Hexe, your love... So it made me question, what was her real name?"


    "I don''t understand where this is leading."


    "Well, it seems you''re not much of a reader, Yeso. Otherwise, you''d know that every villain reveals their plan at the very last moment, just in time for the hero to save the day," Xendrix replied, a wry smile playing on his lips.


    "But that moment has already passed. I''m merely enjoying my victory, savouring the moment. Sharing is caring, after all, especially when you''ve had a bit too much ale and find yourself talking like a gossiping woman. Revealing all the secrets that I needed."


    Xendrix''s words carried a tone of casual arrogance, almost as if he was toying with Yeso, enjoying the power he wielded in the situation. He seemed to relish in the role of the villain who had outwitted the hero, basking in his apparent triumph.


    Xendrix came to a halt, his foot idly playing with a skull half-buried in the ashes on the floor. He looked directly at Yeso, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Now, Blue-One, ask me my name again."


    "Why is this necessary?" Yeso questioned, not understanding Xendrix''s game.


    "Ask!" Xendrix commanded.


    "What is your name?" Yeso asked, reluctantly playing along.


    Xendrix chuckled, pleased with Yeso''s compliance. "Wasn''t that hard, was it?" He locked his gaze onto Yeso''s and declared very articulately, "I am Xendrix Kaspian, the II."


    At that revelation, it felt as if the world itself had shifted beneath Yeso. He turned his head slightly to meet Howl''s passive gaze. A realisation dawned on him ¨C they were trapped in a loop, a cycle of events that had already played out.


    This was not the start. This was the end-point.


    Yeso''s mind raced, pondering the moment this loop might have originated, questioning whether it was even his own doing that created this loophole. His conclusion was that his part was executed when he let Zvoya run away with the Kaspian heir, Xendrix Kaspian, the II.


    "I already won," Xendrix announced triumphantly, breaking through Yeso''s thoughts. His command echoed through the hall, resounding with finality. "Kill him!"


    NA notes:


    <blockquote>


    Blut


    Noun


    Translation: Blood


    Pronunciation: /blu?t/


    Definition: "Blut" is the term for the vital fluid circulating in the living organisms. It carries essential substances such as nutrients, oxygen and magic to the cells and removes waste products. In the Map there are 5 typed of blood.


    Type 1 Blood (Red):


    <ul>


    <li>Description: This blood type is characterized by its red coloration, indicative of a non-magical nature. Predominantly found in humans, it is also present in a significant proportion of halflings and fae species.</li>


    <li>Contagion Status: Current studies have not conclusively determined the contagious nature of Type 1 blood. Further research is required to ascertain its potential for transmission among different species.</li>


    </ul>


    Type 2 Blood (Green):


    <ul>


    <li>Description: Known as Elven blood, this type exhibits a distinct green hue and is primarily associated with elves, faeries, and a large segment of fae creatures. It is notable for its high magical content.</li>


    <li>Magical Properties: The elevated levels of magic in this blood type suggest unique physiological and biochemical processes distinct from non-magical blood types.</li>


    </ul>


    Type 3 Blood (Blue):


    <ul>


    <li>Description: This rare blood type is entirely composed of magical elements, displaying a blue coloration. Its unique composition renders conventional human medical treatments largely ineffective.</li>


    <li>Species Variability: Type 3 blood can be found across various races, with no specific racial predilection. Its rarity and magical nature necessitate specialized medical approaches for treatment.</li>


    </ul>


    Type 4 Blood (Black):


    <ul>


    <li>Description: Commonly referred to as Nightmare blood, this type is characterized by its black color. It is highly infectious, with a noted resistance to current medical interventions.</li>


    <li>Contagion Status: The contagion associated with Type 4 blood is deemed incurable at present. This blood type poses significant challenges to public health and safety.</li>


    </ul>


    Type 0 Blood:


    <ul>


    <li>Description: This blood type is of unknown origin and exhibits characteristics not observed in the other classified types. This type used to be related to dwarfs and dragons.</li>


    </ul>


    </blockquote>

 01 [CH. 0054] - The Long Night

    <blockquote>


    Tot


    Noun


    Translation: Death


    Definition: "Tot" is the word used to describe death. It represents a fundamental concept in Menschen culture, often intertwined with beliefs about the afterlife, legacy, and the cycle of nature. In some region even Tot, is also applied as the word for reincarnation.


    </blockquote>


    Noctavia moved her bare feet slowly towards Yeso. Each one of them clutched a simple copper dagger, an insignificantly small weapon with only one meaning: Tot.


    They both understood the futility of any physical struggle between them; the outcome would be the same regardless of who struck the final blow. Their shared promise, a bond forged from a hex and a bless, ensured that their destinies were irrevocably intertwined.


    Their history spanned aeons. There was no library big enough to contain their love story. Together, they had traversed the spectrum of all emotion, from joy to sorrow, laughter to tears. Their lives were so deeply bonded that it was impossible to discern where Yeso''s story ended and Noctavia''s began.


    Yeso watched, his gaze fixed on Noctavia''s hand as they trembled around the hilt of the dagger. She was using every strength left to fight against Xendrix¡¯s command.


    "I know you can hear me. It''s okay. The hex will work, you¡¯ll see, and we''ll be together again soon. We can outsmart death, just like he did, can''t we? You trust me, don''t you?" He took a step closer, trying to bridge the gap between them.


    But as he moved closer, Noctavia instinctively flinched back, her body reacting even as her mind fought against Xendrix''s control. "Don''t do that, Zonnestra, come here," Yeso beckoned gently, trying to coax her closer, ¡°Please, Zo, come here.¡±


    However, his words, meant to reassure and draw her in, had the opposite effect. Triggered by some command or fear implanted in her mind, Noctavia suddenly lunged at Yeso, her dagger aimed straight at his heart.


    In a swift movement born of their centuries of combat training, Yeso sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike. He reached out, attempting to grasp her arm to stop her without causing harm.


    But Noctavia, short and agile, demonstrated her mastery in evasion, a skill honed through aeons of being the lover of the greatest warrior who ever existed. She moved with a fluidity that made it difficult for Yeso to anticipate her movements.


    Yeso knew Noctavia''s combat capabilities too well. He had always ensured she was adept in self-defence by fighting, dodging, and parrying to ensure she would be protected even if he wasn''t next to her.


    Xendrix''s voice, in the meantime, echoed through the hall, "Kill him, you wretched thing!" he bellowed. But his words seemed to fade into the background for both Yeso and Noctavia.


    They were in a world of their own, locked in a struggle that was as much about resisting Xendrix''s spell as it was about grappling with the looming spectre of death.


    After a series of deft movements and close calls, Yeso finally managed to grab Noctavia by the shoulder. Her dagger was perilously close to his chest, and her hands and arms trembled under the strain of resisting the order to strike.


    Yeso, understanding her restlessness, gently took hold of her hands around the dagger. "Zo, do you remember what we promised each other? Yes?" he asked, trying to lock his gaze onto Noctavia''s stitched eyes. "If we don''t find each other again, if we turn into dust after this, Orlo will carry on our hex. He will be blessed with a love as great, if not greater, than ours. We will live on, one way or the other. Do you hear me, Zo?¡±


    At that moment, Yeso felt the pressure of the dagger intensify, the sharp point pressing against his skin. "But if the tales are true, if we do come back, Zonnestra, you must be the one to find me. I''m not sure I''ll be capable of finding you in the next life... Zo, I don¡¯t think I will be strong enough," His voice wavered, emotion choking his words as the blade began to pierce his skin. "You''ll need to be the one to save me. Please, my love, you have to find me and save me."


    The dagger delved deeper into him. Yeso could feel the tremors running through Noctavia''s body, her entire being quivering and fighting against the involuntary act of betrayal. Her struggle against her own will was a silent scream of resistance.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    "Mir amo tu," Yeso whispered gently into her ear, "I love you so much. You made me so happy¡­ Zo¡­"


    With a sense of finality and a hexed love, Yeso whispered, "You are free now, Sehr em ver, vida weiter mir tu suchen!" As he uttered these words, he pulled her hand, and thus the blade, decisively towards him. The sharp edge split his heart, sealing their fate and love with an act of unconditional sacrifice.


    In those last moments, as his vision began to blur and darken, Yeso''s eyes remained fixed on Noctavia. Her face slowly drained of colour, a haunting mirror of his own fading existence. Yet, even as his strength waned, Yeso mustered enough will to catch her in his arms, ensuring that even in death, they would not be parted. They fell on the stoned floor, creating a cloud of ashes, while a shadow covered the sky.


    Xendrix, oblivious but with a triumphant stride, approached the lifeless bodies of Yeso and Noctavia. His eyes glinted with a sense of victory and satisfaction as he beheld the culmination of his plans. He walked up to Yeso''s still form and kicked at his shoulder, showcasing his disdain and to be sure the Blue-one was indeed dead.


    He was interrupted by the sudden but not forgotten menacing growl of the Howling Night. He turned, an expression of mild annoyance crossing his face as he met the formidable Spirit.


    "It was a bit anticlimactic, wasn''t it?" he said, almost to himself, rolling his eyes in exasperation. The repetition of events, the sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu, seemed to irk him more than anything else.


    Addressing the Howling Night, he spoke with a tone of weary resignation, "We''ve done this before, haven''t we? Just get this over with. I have already won." Xendrix said while opening his arms to the enraged Spirit. ¡°And you have already lost again!¡±


    The Howling Night, fuelled by a primal rage and a profound sense of loss, accepted the invitation and leapt towards Xendrix with a ferocity that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. In one swift, powerful movement, the wolf tore into Xendrix''s throat, his jaws clamping down with such force that it not only tore the flesh but also cracked and decapitated the king¡¯s neck in a single, brutal motion.


    But the wolf''s fury was not yet quenched. Driven by an insatiable need for vengeance, the Howling Night proceeded to tear open Xendrix''s chest. With relentless savagery, he ripped through the rib cage, exposing the heart within. The wolf then slowly chewed on the heart, but it did little to ease the immense pain and loneliness that engulfed him.


    The Howling Night''s Master was gone, leaving him completely and utterly alone in his grief. This profound realization resonated far beyond the castle''s fallen walls, reaching up into the heavens.


    In a mournful tribute to the Howling Night''s sorrow, all spirits from the Map grieved alongside him. One by one, like the Sun, the stars dimmed their light, turning off their brilliance in solidarity. The night sky became shrouded in total darkness as each star retreated into oblivion.


    The nine moons, echoing the stars'' gesture, also withdrew their presence. For a long time, they would remain absent from the sky, leaving the world in an extended period of darkness, a fitting reflection of the Howling Night''s profound loss.


    Amidst his tears and howls of grief, the Howling Night witnessed a small miracle. Inside the lifeless bodies of his Master and her Hexe, two saatguts fluttered their wings, a sign of life amidst the devastation. It was a bittersweet moment.


    As one of the butterflies emerged effortlessly from Yeso''s body, its counterpart struggled to free itself from the confines of Noctavia''s form, hindered by the stitches around her mouth.


    The Howling Night, his muzzle stained with blood and eyes clouded with tears, watched in uncertainty. He was torn between the desire to assist and the fear of causing further harm, unsure whether to intervene in this process.


    However, the first butterfly, glowing with a serene light, seemed to understand its mate''s plight. In an act of gentle assistance, it hovered near Noctavia, offering its support.


    After a tense and delicate effort, the second butterfly finally managed to disentangle itself from the stitches. Now freed, it joined its companion in flight. Together, they soared away, their wings emanating a colour that defied description. It was a hue so unique and captivating that it left an impression of otherworldly beauty, just like the love that bonded between Yeso and Noctavia.


    Watching them disappear into the distance, the Howling Night felt a bittersweet sense of relief. Even though he knew he wouldn''t see his Master and her Hexe for a very long time, there was comfort in knowing that they wouldn''t be alone. The butterflies, embodiments of their saatgut, would carry on. Where? And when? He didn''t know.


    Exhausted and overwhelmed by the events, the Howling Night collapsed into the ashes, completely drained. In that moment of utter weariness, all he yearned for was sleep. Something to make the pain stop.


    As he lay there, on the brink of succumbing to exhaustion, a gentle voice reached his ears. It was the little mouse, Marie-Hex, speaking, "Sleep, my friend; I promise I''ll wake you up when your Master returns. I will take care of everything."


    The Howling Night, his voice heavy with fatigue and sorrow, asked feebly, "You promise you''ll wake me up?"


    "I promise," Marie-Hex affirmed while her fingers brushed his fur. "I always keep my promises."


    "I''m so tired, I''m so sad," the wolf murmured. ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore!¡±


    "I know," Marie-Hex replied, "But they will return. They always do, don¡¯t they? Otherwise, I wouldn¡¯t be here. Rest now, and when the time is right, I will be here to wake you up. You won''t be alone in this wait. This time, I''ll be here when you wake up."


    With that said, the Howling Night allowed himself to drift into a deep, much-needed sleep, trusting in the promise that one day, he would be reunited with his Master, whoever or whatever they would be.

 01 [CH. 0055] - The Great Exodus’s End

    As the relentless winter tightened its icy grip on the land, sea and sky, time seemed to stand still. With the stars, moon, and sun absent from the sky, days and moons blurred together, plunging the world into a perpetual, bare, long night.


    The harsh, biting cold seeped into every crevice, making even the simple act of breathing a struggle against the frigid air for every creature.


    In the Capitol, the mood grew increasingly restless and desperate. People''s complaints and grievances, once mere murmurs, now swelled into a relentless tide that could no longer be ignored. Fiona, standing at the helm of the world, found herself facing an onslaught of concerns and demands.


    Rulers and lords across the Map pleaded for explanations which went unanswered, frustration turned to anger, and threats began to surface. The leaders, unable to soothe their own subjects or alleviate their fears, saw their authority waning.


    With no solution in sight, their patience wore thin. Talks of unity and cooperation soon gave way to plans of aggression. They threatened to invade Ormgrund, determined to take the Capitol by force if necessary. In their eyes, Ormgrund, as the seat of power, held the key to the unexplained phenomena that had thrust their world into darkness and despair.


    Nobody knew the truth yet; the Master of the Sun, Yeso Sternach, died at the hands of his Hexe, Zonnestra Duvencrune, the Master of the Howling Night.


    The threads of discontent weaved through the population, growing stronger and more vocal each day. Fiona, aware of the escalating situation, realized that the time for passive observation had passed. The absence of natural light sources had thrown the natural order into chaos, and it was her responsibility to address the mounting concerns of her people.


    She had to act, to find a way to silence every voice against her and keep herself on the throne.


    The pressing question on everyone''s minds was why Fiona hadn''t activated the Ormstaat. This powerful system, once initiated, had the capability to connect and manage every aspect of the globe, a feat of magic and administrative prowess that could potentially alleviate the crisis they were facing.


    Yet, despite this remarkable tool at her disposal, the Ormstaat remained dormant, as inactive and dark as the sky above.


    However, Fiona''s reluctance or inability to activate the Ormstaat was a source of growing concern and speculation. Was it a strategic decision, a technical limitation, or something more complex at play?


    Fiona found herself in a precarious political position, with her influence waning rapidly. The strategy of eliminating heretics, which she had previously employed, proved to be increasingly ineffective. Resorting to kill those who disagreed with her policies or actions had brought about a diminishing return.


    Seated in her office, Fiona''s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of an unexpected letter. It was from "a friend, X. Kaspian," a term that in her world often came with layers of hidden meanings and agendas. Unfolding the letter, she discovered it contained detailed instructions on activating the Ormsaat. This was a game-changer.


    Whoever was this X was indeed a strong ally.


    With this newfound knowledge at her fingertips, a plan began to form in her mind. She saw a clear path to not only regain her waning political power but also to silence those who opposed her for good. She was pleased.


    After thoroughly reading the letter and extracting every bit of information it held, Fiona nonchalantly froze it with a flick of her fingers, watching dispassionately as it disintegrated into frozen dust.


    Turning her attention away from the now-destroyed letter, she caught sight of a maid diligently dusting her office. "You!" Fiona called out authoritatively.


    The maid, startled by the sudden address, quickly straightened up. "Yes, your Highness?" she replied, nervous.


    "Do we have a fairy in our staff?" Fiona inquired.


    "Oh, uh, we have several, your Highness," the maid answered, trying to mask her confusion.


    "Bring one of them to the pool!¡±


    The maid, puzzled by this unusual request, hesitantly asked, "At the pool, your Highness? May I inquire what the task is?"


    "There''s no task. Just bring her!"


    The maid nodded, understanding that further questions were unwelcome. She bowed deeply, almost excessively. As Fiona exited the chamber, the maid couldn''t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Which faerie would she choose? **


    Mir Fado.


    Vespara had been at the Capitol since Veilla and Yeso were merely sweethearts. Despite her almost childlike appearance, she was a beloved figure among the staff. Her presence brought a certain warmth and lightness to the often heavy atmosphere of the political stronghold. Thus, when she was summoned to join Fiona at the pool, confusion and curiosity swirled among her peers.


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    Vespara''s usual responsibilities revolved around the kitchen. Occasionally, she lent her skills to the tailors, assisting in mending and crafting garments with a dexterity that belied her innocent looks.


    However, her interactions with the Dames of the Capitol had always been minimal, limited to respectful nods and the occasional polite greeting in passing corridors.


    The idea of being personally requested by Fiona, especially for an unspecified task at the pool, was unprecedented in Vespara''s experience.


    As she made her way to the ormsaat, guided by the instructions of the maid who had delivered the summons, Vespara felt scared. She wondered what task could possibly require her presence in such an unusual location and why Fiona would specifically request her.


    Her mind buzzed with questions and possibilities. Could this be an opportunity for her to showcase a hidden talent or skill she hadn''t yet realized she possessed? Or was there a more mundane explanation, perhaps a simple errand or a task that required her specific touch?


    As Vespara approached the pool, little did she know that this seemingly ordinary day was about to turn into a moment that would change the world forever.


    Upon reaching the chambers of the Ormsaat, Vespara found Fiona waiting for her, immersed in the waters of the pool. Fiona was clad in a simple white tunic. The Winterqueen extended a hand towards Vespara, gesturing for her to join her in the water.


    What caught Vespara''s attention most, however, was Fiona''s smile. In all her time of service in the Capitol, she had never seen such an expression on the Winterqueen''s usually stern and stoic visage. This smile was different; it held a warmth and gentleness that was almost motherly.


    Vespara looked at Fiona''s outstretched hand. The inviting gesture, coupled with the unexpected smile, made her momentarily forget the formality and distance that typically defined their interactions.


    Vespara cautiously stepped into the lukewarm water, gradually making her way towards the Dame. She opened her mouth to speak, "I really ap..." but her words were abruptly cut short. In a swift, shocking motion, Fiona''s hand pierced through Vespara''s belly, an act so sudden and violent that it left Vespara reeling in disbelief.


    Green blood began to trickle from the corner of Vespara''s mouth. She had no time to react, no moment to even grasp the reality of what was happening to her. Shock and confusion clouded her senses as she looked down her belly.


    What Vespara saw next would haunt her final moments. Fiona''s hand emerged from her body, clutching something that emitted a soft, ethereal green glow. It was Vespara''s saatgut, her very essence, manifesting as a glowing green butterfly. It was her seed, what faeries were made of¡ªpure raw ley line energy.


    In those last seconds, as Vespara''s life ebbed away, the realization of what had been taken from her was devastating. Her seed, her very potential for life and rebirth, now lay in the hands of the Dame. It was a theft not just of life but of identity and future, leaving Vespara to fade away with the understanding that a part of her very being had been forcibly ripped away and claimed by another. Fiona had mercilessly and callously stolen it from her.


    As Vespara''s body began to wither like a delicate leaf, her life force rapidly draining away, she witnessed her saatgut ¨C the glowing green butterfly ¨C struggle fiercely for its freedom. This desperate battle for survival played out just inches from her fading vision.


    Meanwhile, Fiona, with a sinister resolve, opened her mouth and swallowed the saatgut whole. As it disappeared into Fiona, the pool around her erupted with an intense green light, radiating outwards in a spectacular display of energy.


    Ley lines, akin to veins of luminous energy, began to etch themselves across Fiona''s body. Starting from her eyes, these glowing lines traced down her face, past her mouth, and over her chest, intertwining with the swirling waters around her. The spectacle was both beautiful and wicked.


    The surge of energy that coursed through Fiona was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was an addictive sensation that engulfed her entire being.


    And then, the critical moment arrived ¨C the mark of the story, an event that would irrevocably alter the course of the world.


    The ground began to tremble as deep, resonant tremors shook the ground of every country in the world. Everyone around Fiona tried to find refuge.


    But these were not mere earthquakes; they were the heralds of a colossal upheaval. The skies, already darkened by the Long Night, roiled with ominous clouds as if nature itself was reacting to the disturbance.


    Without warning, massive fissures erupted across the borders of Ormgrund. These were not ordinary cracks in the earth but gaping chasms that tore through the landscape with a ferocious intensity. The very land began to fracture and split, creating a terrifying spectacle of destruction and raw power.


    As the chasms widened, the entire landmass of Ormgrund began to shift, moving away from the adjoining territories. It was as if an invisible force was pushing the country away from its neighbours, rending it from the fabric of the continent.


    The seas, responding to this dramatic shift in the earth''s crust, churned violently. Titanic waves crashed against the newly formed cliffs, eroding them at a staggering rate. The water rushed into the expanding rifts, creating tumultuous whirlpools and violent currents that further accelerated the separation.


    In a matter of hours, Ormgrund had become an island nation, isolated from the rest of the world by a vast expanse of the Red Sea.


    The aftermath of this event was catastrophic. The seismic activity and the creation of the new sea had a ripple effect across neighbouring lands, causing widespread destruction and chaos. Entire coastal settlements like the Trial Settlement, Yeso Settlement, Moonbay, and parts of Keblurg and Spiyles were swallowed by the sea, and the ecological balance was disrupted, leading to unforeseen environmental consequences. Faewood, by some miracle, was spared from all the events.


    As the dust settled, the world gazed in awe and horror at the new reality. Ormgrund, under Fiona''s command, had become a solitary fortress. This radical act of separation was a clear message to the world: Ormgrund was the land of the Menschen and not of the humans. It was a sovereign entity, untouchable and isolated, a kingdom unto itself, governed by a ruler who had defied the very laws of nature - Winter officially started.


    And this is the start of the Long Night and those who survived it.


    <h2 style="text-align: center">END OF HEXE - The Great Exodus</h2>

 02 [CH. 0056] - Maggie of Faewood

    HEXE - BOOK of The Long Night


    <blockquote>


    ¡°1980 days left.¡± by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition


    </blockquote>


    It was a very long Night.


    And it had been a very long night, stretching throughout the last seventeen Winters.


    Claramae felt the weight of each step as her boots stomped through the snow, mashing it with a muffled crunch. The cold seeped through her footwear, and her socks were already drenched in rime. Despite her thick, woollen coat, she was still cold.


    As she walked, she observed the wires that crisscrossed above her, a network of human engendering that seemed almost invasive against the backdrop of the town''s simple architecture. The constant, low buzz of electricity in the air was still an alien sound to her ears.


    The light and life of Mir-Sun were now trapped within the four walls of each household, leaving the outside world in a dim, eerie stillness. The town was no longer bustling, with people walking in and out. It has simply succumbed to an almost ghostly silence, a clear contrast from Fall to Winter.


    The world changed rapidly, yet the long Night was here to stay.


    As Claramae stepped into the convenience store, her gaze was immediately drawn to the posters plastered on the wall. Posters and photos of faeries who had vanished without a trace, never to return back to Faewood. She had been the one to post them, forty-four names. The numbers, dishearteningly, continued to rise. How many now? One hundred and two? Maybe more?


    In recent Winters, faeries and other winged creatures had started to hide their wings. They would tuck them under corsets, binding them tightly under their clothing. This precaution was a way to blend in, allowing them to be easily mistaken for faes or even humans for their own safety.


    Taking a deep, steadying breath to brace herself, Claramae approached the store counter. This place, more a warehouse than a typical convenience store, was dimly lit and cluttered, with shelves haphazardly stocked with a mishmash of goods.


    "Hey, Humbert, are you there?"


    Humbert''s eyes were vacant as he looked up, his expression hollow. The big guy with a kind smile was now weary and absent. Claramae knew all too well the reason behind that look. It was the same vacant gaze she''d recently seen in so many of her users¡¯s faces.


    "Did you bring more?" Humbert asked, his voice lacking its usual warmth.


    "Hum, Humbert, this is the third time this week. And... you don''t look so good." Claramae could clearly see that Humbert was now a leftover of his former self.


    "I have three gallons of fuel, warm clothing, and the boy''s new boots," said Humbert, bypassing pleasantries and diving straight into bargaining. It was a survival mechanism, a way to cope with the dwindling supplies. "He needs clothing. The lad has grown up and is taller than you... and there is almost no fuel for your generator, right?" he added. ¡°Can¡¯t see Faeries live long without warm water, just saying.¡±


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    "Add two pairs of trousers and a complete suit, brown¡ªyou know he likes brown¡ªand socks. Did you get it?" The Faerie asked with her best poker face.


    The human storekeeper simply nodded.


    Claramae reached into her coat pocket, her fingers wrapping around a parcel she had carefully concealed with parchment paper. She discreetly slid the package across the counter''s surface.


    Humbert snatched up the package almost immediately. He eagerly unwrapped it, his nose twitching as he sniffed the contents. His fingers sorted through the slices of mushrooms.


    "It''s missing two," Humbert stated flatly.


    Claramae sighed, her frustration tensing the line of her mouth. The star mushrooms had become more than just a rare delicacy; they were a scarcity and addiction that plagued the town¡¯s community, particularly among humans like Humbert. Their reliance on these mushrooms had grown in the wake of the long Night, becoming a crutch to cope with the bleakness of their new reality.


    "Humbert, you''ve been consuming them daily. I''m really worried about you."


    "I want the missing slices in the next delivery," Humbert insisted with no room for debate.


    "Humbert, please listen to..."


    "Next delivery, or there won''t be any more deliveries. Do you understand me, faerie?" Humbert''s voice held an edge of threat, a hardness that hadn''t been there before. But Claramae had learned to recognise when there was no more space for any further bargain.


    She paused, her expression softening as she sought to understand. "Why?" she finally asked. "What... what does it do to humans?"


    Humbert chuckled cynically, "Well, it''s like a lucid dream. I can see my little Helen again. I can hug her, smell her, play with her, and sometimes, I even see my wife." Humbert''s voice cracked slightly, ¡°Did you know she passed away last moon? We were married for ten Winters."


    "No, I didn''t know that," Claramae replied.


    "The doctors said she got a nasty infection in her lungs, and there was nothing more they could do." Humbert''s eyes were distant, lost in the pain of his memories. "So, yeah, maybe I''m becoming a fucking junkie. So what? But at least... I''m not really alone, you know? Can you understand that?"


    He turned his back, not giving Claramae a chance to say she was sorry without really feeling or understanding the pain.


    Humbert just disappeared into the back room of the warehouse-like store. Moments later, he returned, carrying several packages. "This is everything you asked for," he said, a bit more composed now. ¡°I''ve placed an order for a couple of new corsets for the next delivery, and I ordered those boots you wanted. I got a nice deal, but they have a higher platform for the shorter faeries. So they look less¡­ you know, faerie."


    Then, with a slight trace of concern, he added, "I''ve heard that a bunch of mercenaries are hunting your kind like game."


    Claramae¡¯s expression turned grave at this news. "Did you catch anything else? Any reason why?" she asked. The thought of mercenaries hunting them was a living nightmare for her and her colony. It was nothing new for the past decade, but they still couldn¡¯t understand why. What was the gain?


    "I''m not as smart as your little guy, but I''d guess it''s the same reason why you''re involved with these little mushrooms. By the way, do you know where you''ll send Orlo now that he''s graduated?" Humbert asked.


    Claramae paused in the midst of gathering the packs of goods, a look of confusion crossing her face. "Graduated? Orlo is only seventeen!" she exclaimed, clearly surprised by Humbert''s assumption. "He didn''t graduate! I would know!"


    "I''ve been hearing for a while now... that he graduated eight moons ago. People have seen him around every day and expected that you''d send him to college."


    "That''s impossible!" Claramae retorted, her voice laced with disbelief. The idea of Orlo, still so young, being seen as ready for such a step was unthinkable in her eyes. "He... no, no, he is still in high school. He couldn''t... you said eight moons ago? Almost a¡­a¡­ full Winter?"


    "Claramae, that little fellow is not like you and me. Compared to him, we''re just arses. I think he is playing you all."


    ¡°Fucking kid, that Orlo will drive me nuts.¡±


    <blockquote>


    I am writing to you today with great enthusiasm to recommend a prodigious young talent for admission to the University of Science and Technology at Regulus, with a strong endorsement for a full scholarship. His academic prowess became evident when he graduated for the first time in Mathematics at thirteen. Since then, he has achieved the remarkable feat of graduating in Literature, Science, and Arts, each time as the top student in his class, with a final grade of 19.2. As the Dean of Mir-Sun High School, I have witnessed this student¡¯s extraordinary journey, which has been nothing short of remarkable, especially considering he is only seventeen Winters old. ¡ª letter of recommendation from Dean of Students of Mir-Sun High School, 1st Moon, 17th Winter


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0057] - Maggie of Faewood

    <blockquote>


    Mir-Grande-Noit


    Noun


    Translation: The Long Night


    Definition: "Mir-Grande-Noit" refers to a cataclysmic event in the Map, marking a period of extended darkness that lasted for twenty-two Winters. During this time, the land was enveloped in persistent night, with no sunlight, moonlight, or stars visible in the sky. Despite the harsh conditions, this era sparked a remarkable surge in human ingenuity and technological advancement. It was within the shadows of the Mir-Grande-Noit that humans developed pivotal technologies such as electricity grids, trains, automobiles, and central heating systems, and others, reshaping their society and its infrastructure to thrive amidst the harsh darkness.


    </blockquote>


    Claramae steered the reins, stopping her shaggy coach in front of the school. She watched as a swarm of children burst out of the building, their laughter and shouts filling the cold air. Among them, she spotted a young redheaded boy, just a palm taller than her, walking down the stairs.


    His gait was slow, his eyes downcast, hands buried in his coat pockets, and a leather bag slung casually over one shoulder.


    As he drew closer, his eyes, a colour-defying description just like his father, met hers. "Hey."


    He climbed onto the cart, settling himself beside Claramae with quiet grace. He adjusted his bag over his lap and sat in comfortable silence beside the faerie.


    "How was school?" Claramae asked, making no move to drive the coach forward just yet.


    "Fine," he answered, his voice flat.


    "Anything happened?"


    "No."


    "Nothing at all?"


    "No, nothing at all. Same old," the redhead replied, maintaining his nonchalant demeanour.


    "Orlo?" She reached out, her fingers firmly grasping his chin, forcing him to look at her directly. "Are you lying to me?"


    Orlo shifted his head, freeing himself from Claramae¡¯s grasp. "Why would I lie? Nothing happened," he retorted, annoyed. Clicking his tongue, he asked, "Can we go home now?"


    Claramae flicked the reins, and the horse began to move, pulling the wagon away from Mir-Sun. The journey home would take about an hour, a transitional passage from the town to the edge of the woods. As they crossed the threshold that separated the urban landscape from the natural embrace of the forest, the Long Night was left behind. In its place emerged a warm day, the entire scenery bathed in the comforting glow of sunlight - Yeso''s dome.


    Orlo visibly relaxed, removed his coat, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Who told you?" he finally asked.


    "The storekeeper," Claramae replied. ¡°Humbert, you know him, right?¡±


    "What did he tell you?"


    "He said you had graduated eight moons ago," she replied, straightforward and to the point.


    "I graduated way before that. I graduated actually four times," Orlo admitted proudly.


    "How the heck does someone graduate four times?"


    "Well, in high school, you can choose from four pathways: Literature, Science, Mathematics, and Arts," Orlo explained, then paused for a moment. "I did all of them. So... four graduations."


    "All of them?"


    "Yeah. It was rather easy, except I had some issues with Arts. I''m not as talented as my mother was, I guess."


    "Noctavia was very talented," Claramae acknowledged, her eyes still on the path ahead. She didn''t dare look at him. It was always some sort of taboo to speak about Yeso and mostly about Noctavia.


    "So now what? What''s next for you?" Claramae asked.


    But the conversation was interrupted by a sudden flickering that disrupted the warm daylight, momentarily plunging them back into the Long Night. It was as if a lamp was blinking before dying out. Both Claramae and Orlo instinctively looked up at the sky, at the dome created by his father seventeen Winters ago, which now seemed unstable.


    "Not again," Claramae sighed.


    "It''s happening more frequently," Orlo observed. Wanting to shift the conversation away from the ominous gloom, he added, "I have recommendation letters from all my teachers. And... a scholarship... fully paid. I don¡¯t know the guy''s name, Edgar something¡­ but¡­ I have coins, you know, for whenever I want to start college."


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    "Where?"


    "Regulus University."


    "That''s far."


    ¡°Is in Ostesh.¡±


    ¡°Still far.¡±


    "Yeah, I know."


    "Do you want to go?"


    "I..." Orlo was abruptly cut off as his attention was drawn to a large gathering of faeries near Godmama''s house.


    "What''s going on?"


    Claramae brought the horse to a sudden halt. Swiftly, she and Orlo dismounted the cart. The scene before them was one of chaos¡ªa sea of agitated faeries, with faces contorted with anger and fear, all converging towards Godmama''s location. Although old, she had the fragile appearance of a five-year-old.


    Orlo, followed by Claramae, had only one thought¡ªto protect Godmama and Maggie from the unruly mob, he moved his short, lean figure, which was taller than the crowd and easier to cut through like a knife through water.


    The crowd of faeries was a tumultuous wave of emotion, their shouts echoing around the duo as they made their way forward. Some faeries, recognizing Claramae, parted slightly, allowing them passage, though their expressions remained hostile and their voices too loud for Orlo¡¯s liking.


    As he drew closer to Godmama, the shouts grew even more louder, but the elder faerie didn¡¯t move. Her childlike frame shielded Maggie, who was cowering behind her.


    "We need to throw her out! She is not like us!" shouted one of the oldest faeries in the crowd.


    "We are going to lose daylight because of her!" another chimed in.


    "Send her back where she came from!" a third voice demanded, the crowd''s sentiment growing increasingly hostile towards Maggie.


    Claramae and Orlo exchanged a look of concern; the fear and confusion amongst the faeries were well-known, and it was clear that calm and reason were desperately needed to defuse the escalating chaos.


    Orlo quickly manoeuvred his way, positioning himself firmly beside Godmama. With a stern look, he addressed the gathered faeries, "Are you all dumb? Do you have pixie dust inside your pretty heads? Or is your intellect equal to or less than a flea lost in a horse''s arse?"


    His words landed like a brick in the water, creating ripples of silence among the previously shouting crowd. ¡°I¡¯m not dumb,¡± some voice dared to whisper.


    ¡°I¡¯m smart¡­ very!¡±


    ¡°Did he say I¡¯m pretty?¡±


    "Are you so stupid? Really, nobody thinks? Really? Ollo?" Orlo¡¯s voice boomed, muting the last whispers.


    "It''s not Maggie disrupting the dome, you all dimwit pixie dust butt fleas!" Orlo''s frustration was evident as he pointed accusingly at a random faerie who was trying to discreetly retreat to the back of the crowd. "You!"


    The accused faerie, taken aback, could only stammer in response, "Me¡­ me?"


    All eyes turned to the singled-out faerie, waiting for what Orlo would say next.


    With a commanding presence, Orlo addressed the faerie he had pointed out. "Tell me, what feeds the dome?" he asked.


    The faerie, caught off guard, mumbled uncertainly, "Hum... the... lake... I think."


    Unsatisfied with the vague response, Orlo quickly turned to another faerie in the crowd. "And what is the lake? You!" he pointed decisively, demanding an answer.


    The second faerie, visibly nervous under Orlo''s intense scrutiny, stuttered, "A... a¡­ an¡­ An Ormsaat?"


    "Yes, very good, very good," Orlo acknowledged the faerie''s correct answer. He shifted his gaze around the crowd, his eyes finally landing on Claramae. "Now... who made the dome?" he asked, pointing to her.


    Claramae rolled her eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed to be put on the spot, and recited, "Yeso Sternach, the Sun who burns land, sea, and sky."


    "Louder, so the ones at the back can hear you," Orlo urged.


    Claramae sighed, then spoke up with more volume, "Yeso was the Master of the Sun. With no Sun to rule, it means the dome can''t feed on its magic... we are running out because we don''t have the source. Yeso..." her voice almost cracked, "And he is dead. Yeso is dead!"


    "Very good," Orlo commended with a clap of his hands. His tone then took on a sharper edge as he addressed the crowd, "Now, please explain to me why you are surrounding my Godmama''s house like a bunch of unbusy human hags! Don¡¯t you have nothing to do?"


    As quickly as it had formed, the crowd began to disperse, the faeries melting away into the surroundings of Faewood. This was the second time this moon that such a gathering had erupted in tumultuous fashion.


    The frequency and intensity of these congregations were starting to worry him, especially regarding the potential harm they could pose to Maggie.


    He couldn''t help but wonder if, in their fear, some among the faeries might attempt something drastic against her.


    Orlo found himself caught in a predicament between his academic future and Maggie¡¯s safety. The thought of leaving her alone in such a volatile environment was unimaginable. Yet, at the same time, the idea of taking her with him to a place devoid of light and warmth that she was accustomed to in Faewood¡ªseemed equally untenable.


    Now that Claramae was aware of his graduation, Orlo realized that it was time to confront the issue head-on. He needed to prepare himself mentally for a conversation he had been dreading, the inevitable discussion about ¡®What''s next.¡¯


    Maggie gazed up at Orlo, her eyes reflecting gratitude. To those on the outside, she appeared as a typical teenage girl, clad in her simple blue dress and a yellow apron. Her dark, unruly hair framed her face, and her smile radiated an untouched innocence. "Thank you!" she said as she gently held Orlo''s hand.


    Despite her teen appearance, Maggie possessed the mentality of a much younger child, a fact that everyone was acutely aware of. He suspected that this was due to her unique condition ¨C her red blood.


    Maggie was sick, and the sad reality was that her condition made her fragile, her life hanging by a thread. At any moment, without warning, she could simply succumb to her illness. And there was nothing he could do. Because there is nothing anyone could do against *Rotblut¡ª*Red Blood, the blood of death.


    Among all the faeries in Faewood, Orlo had developed a special attachment to Maggie. His bond with her was stronger than with others, including her twin, Maddie, who, at seventeen winters, was ageing and behaving like a typical faerie.


    Yeso Sternach and Zonnestra Duvencrune lived here with their son, Orlo Yeso Sternach, and saved seventeen winters ago¡ªMaggie. And for that fact, Orlo couldn¡¯t be more grateful to his parents.


    <blockquote>


    In the 19th Winter, the dome stopped working. The legacy that my father created before my birth was gone. This cessation ushered in a mass exodus of the faerie populace, seeking refuge in other regions. A few stayed to protect the colony''s garden. However, regrettably, their valiant efforts were met with limited success, as the relentless Winter claimed many of these sprouts. Reflecting upon this event from the vantage point of two Winters since my departure, I discern an element of bitter irony in the downfall of Faewood because Maggie is not there anymore. Maggie is okay¡ªI hope¡ªI¡¯m still waiting. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0058] - Maggie of Faewood

    <blockquote>


    Mir-Legado


    Noun


    Translation: Legacy


    Definition: "Mir-Legado" often referring to the right of children to inherit an important family heirloom. A physical embodiment of one''s heritage and duty. It is commonly used in the context of passing down treasured and symbolic items such as a warrior''s ancestral sword, a medic''s grimoire of healing formulas, or a Magi''s black robe and others ¡ª each representing the continuity of the Legacy calling and craftsmanship.


    </blockquote>


    The sound of spoons scooping into a bowl of warm soup created an awkward contrast with the silence that shrouded the table. No one uttered a word. Orlo''s gaze shifted back and forth between Godmama and Claramae, anticipating that any moment now, one of them would broach the topic he most dreaded.


    Yet, as the silence stretched on, even though part of him felt relieved, another part began to feel the mounting weight of his anxiety. He knew it was only a matter of time before the subject would be brought up.


    "Orlo, can you please pass the bread?" Maddie''s voice pulled him from his trance.


    Startled, Orlo quickly handed over the bread basket, "Here."


    While taking it over, Maddie asked, "How was school?"


    And there it was, the moment he had been dreading. "Was okay," Orlo responded, masking the truth with a white lie.


    "Any adventures?"


    "No... no adventures, just... school," Orlo replied.


    "And what did you learn... in school?" Claramae chimed into the conversation.


    "Well... stuff."


    "For such an eloquent boy who likes to be precise, the word ''stuff'' doesn''t quite fit you, don''t you think, Godmother?" Claramae prodded further.


    Orlo was confused; Claramae knew he had graduated. Did she tell his godmama too? Or was he expected to tell her?


    At this, the piercing blue eyes of his godmama bore into him, almost as if they were trying to penetrate his very saatgut. "Well, we... um... I..." Orlo faltered, his usual eloquence failing him under her scrutinizing gaze.


    Godmama gently set her spoon down next to her bowl. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, and placed her chin thoughtfully over her interlocked fingers. "What books did you read today?" she asked.


    She knew.


    Orlo was caught off guard and let his spoon drop into his soup with a small splash. "I read the Encyclopedia of the Universal Mir-Grande-Carta, from P to S. It was a bit boring..." he admitted, trying to sound casual. ¡°But I read everything there is to read in that library.¡±


    "How long have you been feeling... bored?" Godmama asked.


    "I... well, it''s... it''s not important," Orlo deflected, feeling increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze.


    "Claramae told me you received a full scholarship. Ostesh, is that right?"


    Orlo nodded but added, "It''s too far."


    "Too far?" Godmama echoed.


    "Yes, it''s too far. It''s a week''s journey by train and... and I''m too young to be by myself. And I''m needed here," Orlo explained, his voice too clumsy to express any conviction. "I can''t leave just like that!"


    "Needed for what?" Godmama pressed, her eyes still fixed intently on Orlo.


    "Well, I am needed... like, I could... I can teach faeries to read and do calculations and..." Orlo said, trying to justify his reluctance.


    "We already have faeries doing those tasks," Godmama pointed out somewhat dismissively.


    "Well, I can do other things."


    "I think Regulus is a good choice for you and a good challenge," Claramae jumps back into the conversation, offering her perspective. "I can see you as a teacher. Look how you controlled the mob earlier. You used your knowledge and perspective to give them some common sense. It was really good."


    "I called them stupid."


    "Or a writer!" Maddie interrupted with too much enthusiasm. "You could write stories! I love stories."


    Orlo hesitated. His internal conflict was evident. "I can''t go... yet."


    "You are not going to ask for your father''s robe and do the Trial of Elements," Godmama stated with a stern and unmistakable edge of harshness. "If your father hadn''t worn that bloody robe, he might still be with us."


    "I wasn''t... I didn''t even think about doing the trial, Godmama! I don''t even have the required age for that," Orlo quickly clarified, wanting to distance himself from any such intentions. "I''m only seventeen!"


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    "And you won''t. As your elder, I forbid you!" Godmama firmly declared her decision to be final and non-negotiable.


    Sensing the tension escalating in the room, Claramae interjected, hoping to offer a constructive solution. "I know someone in Ostesh, and they could provide lodging for you there."


    "Who?" Orlo asked.


    "The Dagurstea family, Redfred was a disciple of your father. There''s no way he would turn you away," Claramae explained.


    "I do have a scholarship..." Orlo replied.


    "Yes, for your studies. But you need a roof and food too, and we''ll all be at peace knowing you''re with your own kind," Claramae reasoned.


    "I''m not leaving tomorrow or any time soon," Orlo stated.


    "But sooner or later, you... you need to follow your own path," Claramae gently insisted.


    "Excuse me," Orlo suddenly announced, standing up briskly. He picked up his bowl and carried it to the sink. "I can''t have this conversation anymore," he said, exhausted. Without waiting for a response, he walked away, heading straight to his room.


    Upon entering, he closed the door behind him and immediately began to strip off his shirt. He started hastily to untangle the corset with the same clumsy rush every day at this hour, allowing his wings to unfold freely. They stretched out, sore from being restrained all day. Orlo sighed in relief as he felt the tension ease from his wings.


    His room was a typical haven for a seventeen boy, yet with unique touches that spoke of his identity. The desk was overflowing with books and papers. A small closet stood in the corner with a door perpetually ajar, never quite closing properly.


    The most distinctive feature of his room was his bed, a traditional faerie nest. It was an elaborate structure made of branches and silk hanging from the ceiling. Orlo gave a gentle push with his wings, propelling himself onto the mattress and cushions that formed his cosy resting place.


    Lying there, surrounded by the familiar chaos of his room, Orlo sought a moment of solace away from the weighty discussions and expectations that loomed over him. He just didn''t want to think about it all this.


    Orlo felt the gentle patter of four tiny paws scampering across his chest. "Hey you," he greeted softly, looking at his Spirit, a small white mouse with bright red eyes.


    "Bad day?"


    "I don''t want to talk about it," Orlo responded, rolling over his belly and burying his face in the pillow.


    "I see¡­ so no cheese?" the mouse asked.


    "Dammit, I forgot," Orlo mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow, "I''m sorry, little Mouse."


    "No cheese¡­" the mouse repeated, sounding almost disappointed.


    "I''ll get you some later. I just don''t want to talk to anyone right now," Orlo said, still keeping his face hidden.


    "You know they''re right," the mouse ventured cautiously.


    "You too?" Orlo turned to face his Spirit, "Should you be on my side?"


    "I''m a Spirit, you are my Master, and I serve you. I don''t have to agree with you on everything, especially when it''s for your own good," the mouse replied with wisdom that belied its small size. "And you didn''t bring me any cheese!"


    "Little mouse?" Orlo''s tone softened.


    "Yes?"


    "I''m only seventeen. I''m still a kid."


    "That''s not the real reason," the mouse pointed out.


    "You''re annoying," Orlo grumbled and turned his face away from the uncomfortable truths his Spirit was pointing out. She was so annoying when she started to do the voice of reason.


    The little mouse agilely climbed over Orlo''s red hair and positioned herself to face his eyes directly. "We both know why you don''t want to go," she said, her tiny voice serious.


    "I can''t just leave her here alone, can I?" Orlo said, "You didn''t see the other faeries; if I didn''t intervene, they would hurt her, and she already..."


    "But you can''t stay here forever. We have work to do!" the mouse insisted.


    Orlo sat up abruptly, causing the mouse to lose her balance and tumble into his lap. "What work?" he asked, almost demanding.


    "The work!"


    "What work, exactly?"


    "I don''t know, my friend... he is still sleeping."


    "Then I''ll go when he wakes up and gives some answers. It isn''t that important if he is sleeping, is it?"


    "Well, my friend is really sad... and you wouldn''t understand... But you can''t do that, you must go... and..." A knock at the door cut the little mouse''s words, who disappeared behind Orlo.


    "Can I come in?" asked Maggie behind the closed door.


    "Of course, you can. You don''t need to ask, silly," Orlo replied warmly.


    The fairy flew in, gently landing on the swinging bed next to him. They both lay down, the bed gently rocking with their combined weight. "You looked mad," Maggie observed.


    "It''s nothing to do with you," Orlo reassured her.


    "I''m not a pixie dust," Maggie said, "I''m not stupid."


    "I never said that, did I?"


    "I don''t want you to stay because of me."


    "Maggie..."


    "I don''t want you to see me die," she admitted.


    "Maggie..." Orlo pulled her closer into a comforting hug. "I''m not going to let you die, I promise. I will find a solution," he almost whispered a vow.


    Maggie nestled into his embrace but persisted with her heartfelt plea. "I don''t want you to stay because of me... I''m sick, and I will get sicker. I want you to go, so when you come back, I will be a flower." She placed her hands next to her ears, mimicking leaves. "I''ll be green with pink petals. I want you to meet the real Maggie. Not this sick-Maggie."


    Orlo looked at her, "I like this, Maggie. She''s fun, caring, and definitely not a pixie dust." His words were sincere. He was not ready to tell her goodbye.


    "One day, you''ll meet the real Maggie, the one everyone likes, even Maddie. And then Maddie won''t look at me like... I''m...like¡­ stale bread!"


    Orlo, trying to lighten the mood and bring a smile to her face, responded playfully, "But you know, you can make delicious toast with stale bread. Especially with butter, cinnamon and sugar, just the way you like it."


    Her giggle was short-lived as Maggie''s dark eyes met Orlo''s with a seriousness that belied her years. "I have red blood; I am ageing really quickly. I need to know that you''ll be okay. And if you go, when you come back, my seed will be buried, and I''ll be again a flower. Then you can say, ''Oh, Maggie, your leaves are so green! Look at those petals, such a pretty colour!''" She placed her hands again next to her ears, mimicking the shape of a plant head, balancing her head slightly before pausing somberly. "You need to let me go."


    "How?" Orlo said as he grappled with the thought of losing her.


    She gave a small shrug of her shoulders and rested her head on Orlo''s shoulder. "I''m only seventeen, I don''t know," she admitted.


    In that moment of shared silence, he gently unfolded his wings, extending them above both of them, forming a protective canopy, with their veins glowing a golden light as warm and comforting as the morning sun. And they lay there with no more words, just hoping that tomorrow would be another day where they could be together.


    <blockquote>


    "The journey to become a Magi, a path walked by my father, was one I chose not to follow. Despite the glory and reputation associated with his legacy, I recognized early on that my talents lay elsewhere. Handling a sword or even a stick was not my forte. My interests were more aligned with the theoretical aspects of magic, its rules, and strategic combative techniques. Yet, in practice, I fell short of my father''s remarkable skill. He was a Commander, and I am a Scholar. Often, I pondered whether my father''s direct instruction might have persuaded me towards the revered Trial of Elements. Did my decision not to pursue this path disappoint him if he was alive? Among my acquaintances, especially Godmama, there was a sense of relief that I did not seek the Magi''s black robe, especially as those who wore it began to face increasing challenges lurking in the shadows with each passing winter." ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0059] - Maggie of Faewood

    <blockquote>


    ¡°1971 days left¡­¡± by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition


    </blockquote>


    Orlo awoke abruptly, his eyes snapping open to a dazzling display of golden lettering and images that wove themselves before him. Within this mental orchestra, a single image detached itself from the rest.


    He could discern the crisp sound of what could only be a flaking, golden-brown crust, its texture revealing the precise heat of the oven cradling it. Rapid lines of data danced before his eyes, shifting with all the urgency of a blitz.


    The stream of information flipped through patterns and associations with the speed of skimming through pages in a book. His conclusion crystallized: someone was baking, but what exactly?


    An unmistakable scent of flour and butter transformed by heat¡ªthe quintessential foundation of a pie, not a cake. He recognized the smell of the baked crust, noted for its toasty, slightly caramelized fragrance¡ªthis was no mere conjecture but confirmed by the golden text he read in front of his eyes.


    The details were so vivid it was as if he was witnessing the dough rise in real-time through a high-resolution lens, yet all in his imagination. Next, he picked up the soft sound of sugar crackling, the noise muted as if melting atop a soft, mushy surface, indicating fruit cooked down to perfection.


    Then, the sweetness hit the tip of his tongue¡ªthe unmistakable flavour of red apples from the backyard, enhanced by precisely measured spices.


    Finally, the sound of a stool scraping across the wooden floor cemented his deduction. Only one person in his life required such an aid to reach the kitchen counters¡ªGodmama.


    The enticing, sweet aroma was undeniable, instantly making Orlo''s mouth water. Driven by the delightful scent, he leapt out of bed and dashed toward the kitchen. "Do I smell...?"


    Godmama chuckled warmly at his eagerness, "The apple didn''t fall far from the tree, I see." She said while carefully setting a warm tray on the kitchen table, revealing the source of the tantalizing aroma: a freshly baked, warm apple pie.


    The pie''s golden crust glistened under the kitchen light, its steam carrying the sweet, comforting scent of apples and cinnamon that filled the entire room. Orlo''s eyes lit up at the sight, and his belly growled ready.


    Just as Orlo reached out to dig into the pie with his fingers, Godmama swiftly intervened, slapping his hand away with a wooden spoon. "I taught you better than that! You need to wait for it to cool down," she chided, "And use a fork! We are not savages!"


    "But warm is better," Orlo protested, his eyes still fixed longingly on the pie.


    "Don''t be impatient! Tisk, you are just like him," Godmama tutted, shaking her head. "Just like Yeso. Always hovering around my apron when I was making this pie. And he didn''t change even when he got older. Not even when you were just a baby, sleeping in the basket with your little mouse pet. Your father couldn''t resist the temptation of my apple pie." she said, interrupted by a proud chuckle.


    "Your mother was a good woman and always gave him her part." Godmama tilted her head and clarified, still chuckling, "Well, except when she was pregnant, she craved it too. Now I know why," she mused, glancing at him.


    "This hurt, Godmama..." Orlo muttered playfully, rubbing his hand where she had slapped it with the spoon. "Did Claramae go to town?"


    "Why do you ask? Planning to graduate again? Didn''t you graduate enough?" Godmama said with a touch of playful sarcasm.


    "No, I just wanted to talk to her about... going to Ostesh," Orlo replied, a seriousness creeping into his tone.


    Godmama''s expression softened, "Wise decision. Finally, you are growing out of being a boy, ready to turn into a man."


    Orlo hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "But I wanted to ask you for something."


    "What is it?" Godmama asked, her curiosity piqued, while she placed a pot with water over the stove.


    "Can I have my father''s robe?" and immediately explained, "I won''t go to trial; I''m not fit to be a Magi... it''s not who I am, but... I have my mother''s sketchbook, yet nothing that belonged to him. I wanted something... to... I don''t know," Orlo tried to explain himself, his voice trailing off.


    He took a seat at the table. As he sat down, his godmama silently handed him a cup of tea, her expression thoughtful, considering his unusual request.


    "It''s pretty damaged. Almost all burned out. I can give it to you, but it doesn''t even have his smell anymore. It smells of ashes and... death," Godmama said, trying to camouflage her sorrow with a faint smile.


    "Did he have anything else? Like a necklace... or a ring... something?" Orlo asked, hopeful yet hesitant.


    "Your father was not as vain as your mother. Most of his belongings were left at the settlement, and with the long Night, everything was lost under the water," she explained, "There was nothing I could retrieve back. His clothes, his sword, his diaries. Nothing, it was all claimed by the Red Sea."


    The Faerie then sat next to him, taking one of his hands in hers, offering comfort through her touch. "I don''t have anything else of his. Otherwise, I would have given it to you. But I can guarantee that you have your father''s eyes, his kindness, his intellect, and definitely his stubbornness. He was so very stubborn. Just like you."


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "I heard he was tall..." Orlo mused, "Any chance..."


    "No! You are as short as your mother. She could almost be mistaken for a faerie. Such a beautiful girl. So kind... No wonder my Yeso went crazy about her," Godmama recalled, her eyes distant in old memories.


    "So there''s nothing of his?" Orlo asked, disappointed.


    She shook her head, offering a small compromise. "I could rework your father''s robe and wash it. It won''t be exactly the same, but it could be something you might cherish?"


    "Is that possible?"


    "With a little needlework and some good soap, I might be able to do something really nice."


    Orlo smiled, visibly pleased with the idea. "That would be great. So, is Claramae coming back anytime soon?"


    "She just went out to make some deliveries."


    "Deliveries of what?" Orlo asked, puzzled.


    "Deliveries of... um... some gardening we do for the humans. It''s quite successful," Godmama explained, somewhat vaguely.


    "She''s selling them drugs, isn''t she?"


    "It''s an investment for your future!" Godmama quickly justified with a broad smile.


    Orlo rolled his eyes and stood up, holding his mug of warm tea. The heat from the cup felt comforting in his hands. He stepped outside, walking into the tranquil woods that surrounded them. As he strolled, he took a moment to appreciate the calm daylight.


    The peacefulness of the forest with the faeries'' houses coated with flowers, the gentle light and the quiet rustling of leaves, a serene ambience that was forbidden beyond the protective confines of the dome.


    Especially notable was the fact that, for the first time, Orlo didn''t need to get dressed and prepare for a trip into town as if bracing himself to battle against winter. This change allowed him to feel genuinely relaxed, a sensation he savoured. He was looking forward to spending time with Maggie after breakfast, planning to play with her once she woke up.


    As Orlo wondered, a figure passed by him ¨C it was Maddie, the faerie who was born from the same flower as Maggie. She bore the appearance of a very old lady, complete with a hunch in her back and a cane to aid her in walking. This was the typical look of faeries at the age of seventeen, not like Maggie.


    "Good morning, Maddie!" Orlo greeted, waving his hand somewhat awkwardly. However, the faerie didn''t even glance in his direction and simply continued walking away. Orlo was left feeling a bit confused by her reaction, which wasn''t atypical. He understood many things, saw many more and could travel to other realms of reality, but Maddie''s dislike for him was not one of them. Deep down, he suspected it was because of his friendship with Maggie, but he couldn''t fathom why that mattered so much to her. Maggie was still a faerie. A very sick faerie.


    Orlo watched Maddie as she slowly walked away, leaning on her cane, taking small steps by step.


    Suddenly, his train of thought was interrupted. "Good morning!" a cheerful voice sang right next to him.


    Orlo turned and smiled. His mood instantly lifted. "Look who''s here!"


    Maggie''s cheerfulness was infectious. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she announced, "I had an amazing dream!" She swung left and right on her feet, eagerly anticipating Orlo''s curiosity about her dream.


    "You dreamt you were a princess? No, a queen! A frog princess? It was a frog last time, right?"


    "Try again!" Maggie replied, her voice bubbling with excitement.


    "You were a flower... A really big flower?"


    She shook her head in response. "Try again," she prompted, clearly enjoying the game.


    He furrowed his brow in thought, but his mind came up blank. Grasping at straws, he ventured, "You dreamt you baked me millions of apple pies?"


    Maggie giggled at the absurdity of his guess. "No! I can''t touch the stove... you know that."


    "Well, I''m at a loss then," Orlo admitted, out of ideas.


    "I dreamt the sky was full of big fishes, and the fishes had houses on their backs," Maggie revealed with a bright smile. She stretched her arms up to the sky, rising onto her toes, her eyes sparkling as she vividly visualized the dream. "They were really, really, really, really big!"


    Orlo quickly finished the tea in his mug and, with a slight mischievousness, turned to leave the mug on someone''s nearby windowsill.


    "You can''t leave that there. Godmama will be mad at you!" Maggie warned.


    "I''ll come pick it up in a second," Orlo reassured her with a smile. He then extended his hand towards Maggie, adopting a playful, formal tone. "Would you give me the honour of showing me your kingdom of sky-fishes?"


    Maggie''s eyes twinkled with excitement. She closed them really tight, and as soon as she touched Orlo''s hand, it felt as if the world had turned upside-down.


    "Was it something like this?" Orlo asked, gesturing towards the sky.


    Maggie opened her eyes to an astonishing sight ¨C the sky was filled with blue whales, each carrying houses, towns, and what appeared to be floating islands, all drifting languidly through a pink-hued sky. It was a breathtaking view, straight out of the dream she had described.


    "How do you do this?" she asked in awe.


    It was a question she always asked whenever Orlo used his magic to enter people''s dreams and other realities that most creatures couldn''t fathom. Each time, she was as amazed as the first, yet Orlo, true to his nature, never divulged the secret behind this extraordinary talent. But the truth is, Orlo wouldn''t know how to explain it; he didn''t understand himself. And his Spirit was awful at teaching.


    As they gazed upwards, the sky transformed into an ocean of sunrise hues, with orange clouds undulating like waves. Whales sang their haunting melodies, creating a symphony that resonated through the dreamlike realm as new worlds formed on their backs.


    Maddie was in a state of ecstasy, jumping and clapping, her excitement palpable as she pointed to the sky, fully immersed again in her dream.


    However, Orlo sensed that something was amiss. He could detect the distinct smell of saltpetre, sulfur, and charcoal, blending together in an ominous way, hissing faintly like warm water in a whistling teapot.


    Orlo scanned the surroundings, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary for a dream. Maddie, oblivious to his concerns, continued to run and jump around, playfully chasing the dream whales as they floated through the sky.


    Despite the beauty and joy of the moment, Orlo''s senses were alert, picking up on subtle cues that suggested something beneath the surface of this dream was not as serene as it appeared.


    What was it?


    <blockquote>


    I never reveal my magical abilities to my peers or people close to me. It''s not that I''m trying to hide something; rather, I simply don''t know how to explain these powers. Even my Spirit struggles to find the right words to describe what they are or how they function. My magic is unusual. I can understand the anatomy of any creature or mechanism just by observing it. I''m also capable of traversing through dreams and bringing back fragments of them. The success rate of these dream expeditions is about 49%, but when I do receive information, it''s 99.7% accurate. However, this doesn''t always happen on command; it feels more like random data being thrown at me. Fast written information, graphics, drawings, scrolling rapidly. But casting a simple spell like a fireball is beyond my capability, yet paradoxically, I understand the mechanics perfectly behind such spells and have taught them to countless students. And now you know why I like firearms because you never know. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0060] - Maggie of Faewood

    <blockquote>


    Ortmarluft


    Noun


    Translation: Sky Realm / Airborne Kingdom


    Definition: "Ortmarluft" refers to sea creature, the most common the blue whale, swimming in the skies, possibly a floating kingdom. These creatures can only be fund in the realm of Dreams or Nightmares.


    </blockquote>


    A loud bang shattered the dream world, abruptly pulling Orlo and Maggie back to their reality.


    As the sudden interruption flared, Orlo''s acute senses immediately came into play, dissecting the situation with critical detail like a screen of information rolling in front of his eyes at high speed.


    He could pick the subtle vibrations of the earth underfoot ¨C not the arbitrary trembling of natural ground movement, but a rhythmic, pulsating pattern. It was distinct, consistent with the impact of horse hooves beating against the soil, suggesting the presence of mounted creatures nearby.


    Simultaneously, his nose picked up the unmistakable scent of burned gunpowder ¨C a sharp, acrid smell. This odour was characteristic of human weaponry, specifically firearms. The combination of these inputs ¨C the rhythmic vibrations of horse hooves and the chemical scent of gunpowder ¨C led Orlo to a swift conclusion: humans, likely hunters.


    This clearly violated Faewood''s protocol with humans; there was supposed to be no hunting in their territory.


    "What was that?" Maggie asked, alarmed. She tried to run past him to see what had happened, but Orlo quickly held her by the arm and pushed her behind him, instinctively taking a protective stance. His mind raced, trying to assess the situation and ensure Maggie''s safety.


    "Don''t move," Orlo instructed firmly.


    "But..."


    "Don''t make any noise!" Orlo cut her off again. He needed to focus.


    "Why?" Maggie whispered.


    Placing a finger to his lips, demanding absolute silence, Orlo crouched down and began to move stealthily through the bushes and leaves. As he navigated the underbrush, his mind started again to scrutinize any piece of information it could gather.


    The distinct scent of manure, undoubtedly coming from horses, filled the air. Analyzing the intensity and spread of the odour, Orlo concluded that there were five horses nearby. If there were five horses, it logically meant there were likely five humans.


    The echo of a distinct sound of a metal magazine being loaded resonated, a clear indication that the bang Orlo had heard earlier was not the first shot. This realization prompted a troubling thought ¨C had they already shot at someone?


    Stealthily, Orlo continued his careful approach until he finally got a view of his godmama''s house. To his dismay, he saw a group of faeries gathered together, their hands and wings bound. One of the men was pointing a rifle at them, while another was aggressively herding them into a cage mounted on a cart.


    Orlo noted that there were only two men visible, yet he had deduced the presence of five horses. This discrepancy in numbers suggested that there were more individuals involved, likely lurking nearby or perhaps inside the house. The situation was dire, and Orlo knew he had to act quickly and carefully to avoid further endangerment to the faeries and to himself.


    "Orlo?" Maggie whispered, her voice barely audible.


    "Shh, don''t make a noise! We could get caught," Orlo whispered back, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any other signs of danger.


    "But Orlo, I think we are..." Maggie started to say, but Orlo quickly interrupted.


    "Shhh!" he insisted, his finger to his lips again.


    But it was too late. A sudden click, the unmistakable sound of a gun being unholstered, cut through the quiet of the forest, confirming Maggie''s warning. They had been caught.


    "Come on, you two, stand up, slow and nicely!" ordered the human. "Slow and nicely!"


    Orlo cautiously tried to get a better look at the man by the corner of his eyes. The individual was holding a firearm¡ªa rifle¡ªpointed directly at their heads.


    He observed with some difficulty the man''s clothing ¨C high-waisted corsair balloon trousers and a shirt emblazoned with a distinctive crest¡ªan octopus embracing a ship, a symbol not typically associated with mere mercenaries but with pirates.


    Orlo scrutinised the man''s boots, noting the wear and the stains of dirt on his rosette-decorated boots. These details showed that he had spent enough time on land to gather such marks. This could indicate they had been hired to hunt specifically faeries, and their time was running out since they went full in guns blazing. Ignoring the laws that should protect Faewood.


    They were bold enough to navigate the frozen Red Sea, choosing not to use any other transportation forms, or there could be none besides boats, indicating a probable origin from Ormgrund. Yet, they were humans, not natives, which led him to another hypothesis: they were mercenaries hired from there.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    This implied that they had likely made several trips. Back and forth between the isolated land of the Winterqueen and the Great Continent, acting on orders from their patron.


    Nonetheless, Orlo and Maggie obeyed him, slowly standing up with their hands in the air, showing compliance.


    "Now walk! Let''s join the others," the man said, poking Orlo''s back with the gun.


    As they walked toward the gathering, Orlo''s gaze met Grandmama''s eyes. It was then that two other men arrived, escorting more faeries who also had their hands raised in surrender.


    "Where''s Buck?" one of the new arrivals asked, pushing another faerie inside the cage.


    "I thought he was here," the first man responded.


    Orlo''s mind was already racing, processing every detail. The mention of ''Buck'' and the confusion among the captors hinted at a disorganisation in their ranks. This observation might provide an opening, a weakness to be exploited. This humans had no clue what they were doing.


    The conversation was abruptly interrupted by another bang, causing a stir among the captured faeries. "What the hell is he doing? Is he killing them?" one of the men yelled.


    "Maybe we should check; he might have had too many shrooms." the other said with an eyebrow raised, "The fucking place is full of that shit."


    Amidst the chaos, Maggie leaned closer to Orlo, her voice barely a whisper. "If we can go to the world of dreams, can the dreams come to us?" she asked.


    In any other situation, Orlo might have laughed off such a suggestion, responding with a light-hearted comment, ignoring it simply. But now, the stakes were high, and Maggie''s question held a certain weight. He had never attempted to bring elements of the dream world into reality, and he wasn''t sure how feasible it was.


    The idea of summoning flying whales seemed far-fetched and impractical in their current predicament.


    Yet, as he pondered, he realised the potential of tapping into the vast array of creatures from the Great Continent. After all, every creature known had to sleep at some point.


    The challenge, however, was deciding what dream creature could be summoned to aid in this dire situation. Who or what from the realm of dreams could possibly help them now? He mentally made a list with all the possibilities, seeking an entity from the dream that could turn the tide in their favour.


    "Hum... Mister? Mister!" Orlo called out, trying to get the attention of one of the men.


    "Are you kidding me, kid?" one of the men approached him with a cynical chuckle. "Don''t you see what is going on here?"


    "Oh no, I do realise, but I was just wondering. It''s a quick question; I''m just really curious," Orlo replied, trying to maintain a calm demeanour, "You know how it goes, teenagers, am I right?"


    "You''re going to ask where the faeries go?" the man asked a hint of mockery in his voice.


    "No," Orlo replied.


    "What will happen to them?" the man prodded further.


    "No," Orlo repeated.


    "What will happen to you?" the man continued, seemingly trying to anticipate Orlo''s line of questioning.


    "No," Orlo said again, his response consistent.


    "Then what is it?" the man finally asked.


    "From all the creatures in the world, past, present or even future, if you have that sort of imagination, which one are you most scared of?" Orlo asked, taking the human aback. The kid was serious.


    What was the catch?


    "What is wrong with you, kid? Why would you ask that? You do realise we could kill everyone right now," the man replied.


    "Trolls? Cyclops? Gryphons?" Orlo suggested, trying to probe.


    The man lowered his firearm, looking at Orlo with the most puzzled expression imaginable. "You must be the weirdest kid I''ve ever met," he said, clearly thrown off by Orlo''s line of questioning.


    "I''ll take that as a compliment, Sir," Orlo responded, undeterred. "So, maybe Cyclops? Dragons? Ludworms?" he persisted.


    "Centaurs! Fucking Centaurs, good thing these bastards are gone for good," one of the mercenaries muttered, chiming into the conversation. ¡°Drowned with fucking Moonbay!¡±


    "That''s an excellent choice. I don''t know how they slipped out of my mind!" Orlo said, relieved, with a smile brightening his face. "You would think that someone like me would always consider these little details, but there are days I even forget to wear my socks! Thankfully, I have Godmama to remind me of the small things." Orlo continued, babbling as much as he could, "Do you imagine walking around in this cold without socks? Must really suck! Got it? No socks suck."


    While speaking, he slowly leaned sideways to touch the ground, his movement subtle while continuously talking without worrying about making much sense.


    Then, with an abrupt gesture as if he were turning the page of a colossal, invisible book, Orlo let his magic continue the talk. From this newly opened portal, a group of enraged Centaurs suddenly charged forth. Armed with spears and arrows, ready for battle, emerged from the portal with the force of a tsunami that seemed to defy the very laws of reality like the first day of the long Night.


    The appearance of the Centaurs was like a scene from a dream plunged into reality. They emerged en masse, a formidable crowd that seemed to materialise out of thin air. Their hooves pounded against the ground with thunderous strength, causing the earth itself to tremble under their steps.


    As they stormed into the scene, the Centaurs attacked every human in sight with a wild, unbridled ferocity. Their spears and arrows flew through the air, finding their marks with deadly precision. Amidst their charge, they stumbled over the mercenaries. One was caught unawares and impaled by a Centaur''s spear, while another was simply crushed beneath the powerful onslaught.


    The fairies, amidst the chaos, scattered, seizing the moment to escape the conflict. The battle between the Centaurs and the mercenaries was rapid and tumultuous, engulfing the area in a whirlwind of violence in the blink of an eye.


    As quickly as they had appeared, the Centaurs vanished, disappearing just as abruptly as they had arrived. The forest was left in stunned silence, broken only by the sound of a single gunshot echoing through the trees before quiet settled once again.


    "Maggie?"


    <blockquote>


    In my writings, it is not the first time that I delved into the subject of maritime expeditions across the Red Sea, a realm dominated by the Merefolks. Despite the limited knowledge of this domain, many brave creatures, particularly humans, have dared to construct ships and navigate through these treacherous waters. However, every beautiful garden has its weeds, and the Red Sea was no exception, plagued by the presence of pirates. Among the various marauding factions, the most notorious were those sailing with the Meedomar sigil, distinguished by an octopus entwined around a ship. I learned, many summers ago while still drafting this book, that these pirates were actually mercenaries hired by the Capitol, especially active during the long Night. With the onset of Summer, their operations became riskier, as it became difficult for them to elude the vigilant Merefolks who enforced their laws strictly. Contrary to popular belief, mermaids were far less gentle and forgiving than one might expect. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0061] - Maggie of Faewood

    <blockquote>


    Ortfeen


    Noun


    Translation: Fairy Grove / Fairy Garden


    Definition: Ortfeen refers to a sacred location of faeries colonies. They are born from the Cunabula Pr?dictas. An Ortfeen is typically situated adjacent to an Ormsaat, a node of ley line that nourishes and sustains the environment, ensuring the proliferation of Faeries and Sternmelos aka Star-Muschrooms which are vital for the fairies'' existence and growth.


    </blockquote>


    From the underbrush, a faerie emerged, visibly trembling from head to toe. In one hand, she clutched a rifle, the other pressed tightly over her mouth in shock. Claramae could hardly believe what she had done. She approached the group slowly. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight before her. Maggie lay on Orlo''s lap, her small form bleeding profusely. The boy¡¯s white shirt was drenched with red blood. He sat motionless, his expression one of utter shock. He didn''t move or speak a single word, seemingly frozen.


    "I was focused on the human... and then the other human and¡­ and¡­ but then there were centaurs, and it all happened so-so-so fast, and then she... she¡­ she¡­" Claramae stammered, pointing to Maggie and struggling to piece together her thoughts coherently. "Orlo, hun, I... I didn''t mean to..."


    She approached Orlo, but as soon as her hand lightly touched his shoulder, he reacted with a sudden, forceful movement, pushing her away.


    "We need to bury her... before she dies; she needs to go to the faeries¡¯ garden ground," Orlo stated while carefully he picked up Maggie, who was unconscious yet still clinging to life, her heartbeat weak but discernible.


    "Orlo." Godmama approached him, her demeanour not reflecting the usual kindness he was accustomed to but rather that of the matriarch of the Faewood Faeries. There was a stern firmness in her tone, a sense of authority that was rarely displayed. "She cannot be buried."


    "What?"


    "Not here," Godmama continued.


    "What are you talking about? This is Maddie," Orlo protested.


    "I have tolerated her presence because your parents saved her. But they went against our traditions. And I won''t risk the well-being of my colony for a Red-One or any other kind," she stated firmly. The resolve in her voice made it clear that her decision was final, leaving no room for any debate.


    "A Red-One? It''s Maggie!" Orlo shouted. He turned his head, his gaze shifting from one faerie to another. The unspoken prejudices and judgments were now surfacing in the open. The realization dawned on him that this decision had likely been made from Maggie''s very first day of her life.


    With the same demeanour as Grandmama and cynicism that he didn¡¯t know he had in him, he asked, "If I take earth from the garden¡¯s ground, will it be infected? Will it be contaminated? Inpure? You know, since I¡¯m a Blue-One.¡± and added, ¡°Like you and Claramae.¡±


    "What do you want to do, Orlo?" Claramae asked.


    "What none of you is willing to do!" he said, holding the dying faerie in his arms. "And I need a pot now!" he demanded, his voice resonating with the authority of a Sternach, ¡°I said now!¡± he shouted louder.


    As he issued his command, Orlo''s skin began to crackle with golden veins, glowing with sunlight. It was a vivid reminder to all present that he was the son of Yeso, inheriting not just his father''s magical lineage but also his strength and stubbornness, as Godmama reminded him earlier.


    Godmama nodded to one of the faeries, who quickly scurried away.


    "Please, now, calm down, Orlo. There is no need for..."


    "For what?" Orlo interrupted sharply, his voice challenging as he faced her, but not for long. Turning his attention to Claramae, he shouted, "Get me four mushrooms with their roots."


    "But what..." Claramae started to question but quickly gave up, seeing the golden wrath crackling his skin.


    "Less questions! More actions!" Orlo demanded, ¡°Now!¡±


    He then entered Godmama''s house, carrying the unconscious body of Maddie. Gently, he laid her on the table. "I need a scalpel," he stated, looking around for the necessary tool.


    "I don''t..." Godmama started hesitantly, clearly unprepared for such a request.


    Orlo interrupted her once more, almost yelling, "Then give me something that cuts!¡±


    Godmama rummaged through one of her drawers and handed Orlo a small, curved knife. The blade was sharp and pointed, suitable for delicate work. Meanwhile, faint moans from Maggie broke the tense silence. Orlo gently caressed her hair away from her face, "Hey, Maggie," he whispered softly.


    "Ollo, Orlo," Maggie responded weakly, her voice barely above a whisper, but still she chuckled because of her rhyme.


    "Today, we''ll make you a flower, okay?"


    "Really?"


    "Yeah, really, but..." Orlo hesitated, his eyes dodging hers for a moment.


    "It''s going to hurt? Isn¡¯t it?"


    He nodded, "It might... it will. But it''s okay... soon you won''t feel anything."


    As Orlo and Maggie prepared for the next steps, one of the faeries hurried in with a pot full of dirt as requested. Soon after, Claramae entered, carrying four fresh mushrooms. Guessing Orlo''s plan, she didn''t ask any questions, neither did she dare; she simply began planting the mushrooms in the pot, arranging them neatly in a square.


    Claramae then extended a dry slice of mushroom towards Orlo. "The humans say it''s like having a lucid dream. It might help her with the pain," she suggested gently.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Orlo nodded, appreciating the thought behind the gesture. He turned to Maggie, offering her the slice. "Maggie, I want you to swallow this so you can have a nice dream, okay?"


    "Okay."


    "And then you tell me all about it, and we''ll go visit it together. What do you think?"


    "Will I be a flower?" Maggie asked.


    "The prettiest," Orlo assured her with a gentle smile.


    "I mean, a real flower with green blood?"


    "The prettiest," Orlo repeated with a small, forced smile.


    He gently placed the dry slice of mushroom into Maggie''s mouth, ensuring she swallowed it carefully. Then, with delicate movements, he carefully pulled her shirt up just enough to expose her belly. He quickly assessed the wound ¨C the bullet had entered from behind, likely impacting near her kidney region. This observation brought a small relief to Orlo; Maggie''s Saatgut appeared to be intact.


    As he focused intently on Maggie''s abdomen, his vision shifted, overlaying the real world with a stream of detailed, glowing yellow words, sentences and schematics providing instructions. They scrolled before his eyes, providing all the knowledge he needed.


    The instructions began with preparation: identifying the exact incision site, precisely four fingers below Maggie''s navel. This point was crucial.


    Next, the incision technique was highlighted: a shallow, careful cut to avoid any unnecessary harm to the internal structures. The aim was clear ¨C minimal invasion, maximum precision. Orlo kept reading and reread as fast as he could several times until he was ready.


    "Okay, Maggie, here comes nothing," Orlo said, trying to keep his voice steady and reassuring. He was about to embark on a procedure he had never done before. He knew what he was about to attempt ¨C it was a risk, but one he was willing to take for Maggie''s sake. It needed to work.


    Orlo leaned over and measured four fingers below Maggie''s belly button. He knew he couldn''t cut too deeply; he needed to investigate layer by layer to locate where her seed was lodged. The uncertainty of the seed''s size added to the complexity of the task. With this in mind, Orlo began to carefully navigate through the layers of skin, then fat and muscle with the small, curved knife.


    As he delicately made his way through each layer, he was acutely aware of Maggie''s condition. He paused when he noticed that Maggie''s moans, a faint indicator of her consciousness and pain, had stopped. This sudden silence was alarming, yet it could also mean that the mushroom had taken effect, easing her into a painless, dream-like state.


    Orlo focused back as he continued his careful search for Maggie''s saatgut. The task was fraught with uncertainty, but he proceeded with the utmost care, driven by the hope of saving her and fulfilling her wish to transform into a flower. The atmosphere in the room was tense, with everyone present holding their breath, silently beseeching for a successful outcome.


    Under the mushroom''s influence, Maggie began to mumble in her dream-like state. Her words were soft and distant as if she were conversing with someone in a dream.


    "No, no, you can''t go outside. We need to wait here. Eura, please be a nice girl. Your papa will be mad..." Maggie''s voice trailed off, her expression gentle as though she were addressing a child in her dream. ¡°Come inside, Eura, come on, Eura¡­¡±


    She then chuckled softly, a sound that was both heartbreaking and endearing in the tense silence of the room. "Don''t eat it all. Eura! Oh well... I''ll go bake another apple pie, and we don¡¯t say anything to your dad," she continued.


    Then, almost as an echo of Godmama''s earlier words, she added, "The apple doesn''t fall far from the tree."


    As Maggie slipped back into unconsciousness, Orlo made a delicate incision through what looked like a uterus, a discovery that took him by surprise.


    Faeries, known for their unique biological traits, did not reproduce in a manner similar to humans. This led Orlo to speculate that this might be a specialized sac for their Saatgut, and for moments, he wondered if other creatures would have this organ.


    And then, he saw it. Nestled within, there was a fragile, butterfly-like creature with moth wings curled up protectively on itself. It was an astonishing sight, one that momentarily took Orlo''s breath away.


    With utmost care, he cupped his hand inside Maggie and gently extracted the seed. There was no worry about it flying away; it was evident that the tiny creature lacked the strength to do so.


    "Please, you need to rest," Orlo whispered gently to the tiny being, urging it to start its transformation. "I need to turn her into a flower."


    The butterfly barely moved at first, its actions almost imperceptible. But after a moment, its legs began to stroke against each other, initiating the process of cocoon formation. Within a few seconds, it was clear that it was successfully building a shell around itself. And when it finished, Orlo smiled.


    Maggie''s seed had the shape of a heart, but did it work?


    Orlo gazed intently at Maggie''s heart-shaped seed in his hand, then shifted his eyes to the pot holding the four star mushrooms, which were not glowing. This was it, a crucial moment that would reveal whether he had saved his friend or inadvertently sealed her fate-killed her.


    Those gathered around him held their breath in anticipation as he gently touched the edges of the pot. He inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves, and carefully dug a hole in the centre of the pot, ensuring it was sufficiently large to accommodate the delicate seed. With the utmost care, he nestled the seed into the earth, softly covering it with the soil, completing a ritual that held Maggie''s life and his hope.


    He stared at the mushrooms, searching for any sign of change, a dim light, or a faded glow, but there was none. Doubts crept into his mind, gnawing at his confidence. Why had he believed he could save her? What made him think he was any different from any other kid?


    As these thoughts swirled through his mind, tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Outside, a sudden downpour started, its rhythmic sound almost soothing but painful. The rain washed over the grass, cleansing it of the red stains but leaving the dead bodies.


    "Well..." Orlo murmured, pushing a stool forward and sitting down, a look of defeat etched across his face. "She''s gone." Tears streamed down his cheeks as he wept. Claramae, moved by his sorrow, gently placed a hand on his shoulder, offering a silent gesture of comfort.


    He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by grief. Meanwhile, the other faeries gathered around, their eyes fixed on the pot. Uncertainty lingered in the air; none of them knew exactly what to expect, yet deep down, they all clung to a sliver of hope for the best outcome.


    Orlo was lost in his tears, and as they fell, the rain outside seemed to intensify as if echoing his grief. However, suddenly, a soft, surprised voice uttered, "Oh."


    Then another voice followed, "Oh," and soon more joined in, each expressing a growing sense of wonder.


    Driven by curiosity amidst his sorrow, Orlo raised his tear-stained eyes towards the pot. To his astonishment, he saw the mushrooms illuminated, glowing like stars in the night sky.


    "Orlo, it worked," Claramae exclaimed.


    "It worked?"


    "Yes, it worked. You saved Maggie."


    A small smile, fragile but genuine, began to form on Orlo''s lips as he whispered, "She''ll be a flower..."


    Claramae embraced him, and all around, the fairies began to offer their congratulations. However, for Orlo, the triumph was tinged with a sense of sorrow. He couldn''t forget how they had been willing to let Maggie die simply because she was different. She was sick, and that fact remained heavy in his heart.


    Gently, Orlo freed himself from Claramae¡¯s embrace and said firmly, "Send a letter to your friend. I''ve decided to accept their offer to live in Ostesh."


    "Well, we have time. This is good news!" Claramae replied, still caught up in the moment of celebration.


    "As soon as possible," Orlo insisted. "I want to leave with Maggie." With a resolute fashion, he picked up the pot, cradling Maggie''s new form and headed to his room.


    Watching the door close behind him, Grandmama let out a sigh, a look of regret shadowing her features. "He will never forgive us," she murmured, "I just hope he doesn''t return just to die like his father."


    While Godmama spoke, her eye peeked out the windows. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still black.


    <blockquote>


    "Your Master is destined to be nothing less than extraordinary. You''ll love him, and you''ll do anything to keep him safe. He''ll author so many books and none under his real name. He will teach and guide others, but above all, he will love the way that only one born of the sun could love." ¡ªFiorna to the Dreamer before the Long Night.


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0062] - The Nameless

    <blockquote>


    ¡°1926 days left¡­¡± by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition


    </blockquote>


    What happened to the Howling Night?


    The little Mouse, also known as the Dreamer Spirit, found her way back to the very town where her human life had last ended. This place somehow survived the Long Night ravage waters and was now a quaint settlement along the Meerio shore.


    Here, a small community of no more than twenty houses stood, their bricks seemingly untouched by the relentless march of human inventions. The modern intrusion of electric poles had not reached this place; instead, the town was enveloped in a wintry blanket of snow, illuminated by the warm, faint light of oil lamps.


    Marie-Hex, Little Mouse, moved through the snow-dusted streets in the quiet of the Long Night. She saw a woman shrouded in darkness, her arms protectively cradling a young boy. He was no older than five, possibly even younger, and he slept in her hold. His breathing was strained and wheezy. She was desperately banging on a door.


    "Open the door, please! It''s an emergency!" She screamed. Her pleas echoed through the village, yet there was no response, no sign of concern from anyone in the vicinity. Her cries for help seemed to fall on deaf ears. "Please! Help..."


    From the distance, the Little Mouse, with her red eyes, observed the scene. Marie-Hex, witnessing the distress with an air of serene detachment from the world around her, transformed into a human girl with white hair and a coat of white fur.


    Walking slowly towards the distraught mother, she reached out and gently placed her hand on the woman''s shoulder. "Let''s go home," she said.


    "He is sick," the mother sobbed, yet her steps leading back to her home were weighed down by despair.


    "No, no, he''s not sick. He''s just really, really tired," the white-haired girl reassured her, wrapping an arm around the mother and helping her walk back home. Her touch and tone were gentle, imbued with a sense of familiarity as if she knew every nook and cranny of the place, almost as if she had always been here.


    Once at home, she carefully took the boy from the mother''s arms and laid him in his bedroom; she seemed to know this house, even though the mother could swear she had never seen the white girl before.


    But still overwhelmed with worry, the mother repeated, "He is sick."


    Marie-Hex shook her head with a knowing look. "Echternach needs to rest until the right time comes."


    The mother, puzzled, asked, "How do you know the name of my boy?"


    Marie-Hex replied with a gentle smile, "It''s something beyond explanation. Whenever we return among the living, our mothers always bestow upon us the same name. Always the same name."


    She then guided the mother to sit gently on a stool in the kitchen.


    "Please, don''t feed him. He doesn''t need food at all. In fact, food will only bloat his stomach, which takes up space in his already constrained abdomen."


    The mother, taken aback, could only utter a confused, "What?" Her face reflected her effort to grasp the strange yet earnest advice given by the girl.


    "Your son, Echternach, possesses an extraordinarily powerful saatgut, or let''s say a seed. This seed is growing within him, larger and stronger than in any other creature. It will eventually crush him from the inside. So, feeding him regular food won''t actually help him," the Little Mouse explained.


    "But he needs to eat!" the mother protested.


    "If it eases your mind, give him water, maybe some broths."


    "I... I... don''t understand... He needs a doctor... a real doctor."


    Marie-Hex reached out and took the woman''s trembling hands in hers, offering a comforting touch. "You know he doesn''t need a doctor. They won''t be able to help him. Remember, doctors couldn''t help me either, do you remember, Mrs Sophia?"


    The woman''s eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at the girl. "It''s not possible... you... you," she stammered, her voice trailing off as she instinctively pushed her stool back, "Marie-Hex died! I saw her... her mother¡­"


    "You used to call me Little White Marie," Marie-Hex said, showing a strand of her hair.


    "You died! I saw you burn! I saw..." The woman''s face was disfigured in horror.


    "A big wolf?" Marie-Hex prompted gently, trying to piece together the fragmented memories while she pointed to the little boy''s bedroom.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Little Marie? Oh, your mother mourned you until her death," Sophia said, still in disbelief.


    "Oh, she died?" Marie-Hex''s response was somewhat detached, as if reliving a past she didn''t consider her own and was no longer a part of.


    "Two winters ago, she passed away. The funny thing is, on her deathbed, she kept saying you would come back," the woman recounted with tears sliding from her eyes and dying on her wrinkles, "She wanted to wait. She really did."


    "She was a good mother," Marie-Hex said, gently wiping away a tear that had formed on Mrs Sophia''s cheek.


    Looking anxious, she asked, "So, does this mean my boy will leave me soon, too?"


    Marie-Hex shook her head reassuringly. "Not before his Master returns."


    "But he is so ill!"


    "No, what he''s experiencing isn''t sickness. It''s grief," Marie-Hex explained. He needs rest and time to heal his pain. Losing our Master feels like a part of us is being ripped away continuously until they return. I will come back for him for sure, but only once I know his Master is on his way. He did the same for me once. And I made a promise, and I''m not known to fail on my word."


    "I remember when all those Magi came to town the day you..., well you know..."


    "The day I died, yes, I remember."


    "And one of them had stars in his hair and was very tall and gentle. He had beautiful wings, and he even comforted your mother," the woman recalled, stumbling on her words.


    "Yes, that was Yeso," Marie-Hex affirmed, nodding. "Commander Yeso Sternach."


    "What happened to him?" the woman asked.


    "He died. He and his mate were¡­ betrayed. They had a dream of uniting Menschen and humans, teaching them alchemy. But... well, things didn''t go as planned. They were tragically¡­ backstabbed. His mate was taken captive by the very person they were teaching and forced her hand to kill her Hexe, Yeso. It was an incredibly tragic end," Marie-Hex recounted, her voice trembling slightly.


    "Echternach raged in pain... I never saw him like that, and at the end, he barely could stand..., and he was in so much pain. The Sun also needed rest. They both lost their Masters. And all the Spirits, we agreed to... sleep."


    The woman''s expression turned sombre. "I had no idea... are the Spirits the reason for that awful tragedy? Millions of people died and..."


    Marie-Hex interrupted, "No, that was not our doing. That was the Winterqueen herself. She detached Ormgrund from the Great Continent. How, I''m unsure. But Yeso had nothing to do with that."


    "I had no idea."


    "Few people do. It''s not exactly a story that people like to tell, is it?" Marie-Hex responded and let out a deep sigh before asking, "Do you have any paper and something to write with?"


    "Paper?" the woman echoed.


    "Yes," Marie-Hex affirmed, "Paper, something to take note of, anything will do."


    "Oh, let me check." Mrs Sophia rose to her feet and began rummaging through drawers. After a moment, she returned with a half-scribbled sheet of paper. Marie-Hex quickly jotted down a note and handed it to the woman.


    "This is the address where I''ll be. If anything happens to Echternach, please send word. I''ll be here instantly."


    The woman glanced at the address. "Ostesh?"


    "Yes, my Master is starting college," Marie-Hex replied with notable pride. "Now, please excuse me. I just want to check on Echternach one last time before I go."


    Marie-Hex then proceeded to the boy''s room. The child was softly moaning in his sleep. She sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, gently brushing his cheek with her hand.


    "Are they back?" the boy murmured faintly, "Did my Master return?"


    "Not yet," she replied, "None of them."


    "So why are you here?"


    "I came to see my friend," Marie-Hex explained, "Like he did when I was sad."


    "You should be with your Master, taking care of him! Not sitting with the dead."


    "My master taught me a moon ago that friends are very important, especially the ones in pain," she said, "Especially the ones that are different... but very dear."


    "He was always wise," the boy noted with a painful chuckle, "Your Master always knew how to use words."


    "He still is and still does," Marie-Hex affirmed. He is short like your Master, but all the rest reminds me of Yeso."


    "You think he is as good as his father with belly rubs?"


    "He does love apple pie like him."


    ¡°Little Mouse, don¡¯t forget your mission. Don¡¯t get distracted! This all happened before. You need to find the point of no return.¡± the boy said, coughing, and asked, "Will I see you soon?"


    "I promise," Marie-Hex assured him once more.


    "When?" he asked.


    "I promise," she repeated with a faint smile, "But now, I must leave."


    No sooner had she spoken than her human form began to dissolve, seamlessly transforming into a tiny mouse. She scurried around swiftly, becoming a fleeting shadow that vanished into the dim light.


    Moments later, she reappeared in a bustling train station in Spiyles. There, she spotted a teenage boy with red hair and eyes of an indescribable shade. He stood holding a pot with a plant, a large bag slung over his shoulder. He was dressed in a brown suit and a thick coat. That boy was her Master, the Dreamer, Orlo Yeso Sternach.


    Swiftly, Marie-Hex climbed up to his shoulder, gently bumping her head against his cheek in a familiar, affectionate gesture.


    "Where were you?" Orlo asked, a bit annoyed.


    "Just saying hello to a friend," she replied.


    "I was getting worried about you. The train is almost here!" he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cube of cheese and offered it to her, saying, "See, I pack for you too."


    Just then, the train whistle sounded, announcing its imminent arrival. A black steel locomotive, billowing steam and the scent of burning coal pulled up in front of them.


    "Well, here we go," Orlo declared, moving behind the line of wagon forty-four, ready to embark on their next journey. Their destination: Ostesh, Quebaca.


    <blockquote>


    There''s a part of my story I''d rather bypass around. I was a young lad who fancied himself as a grownup, yet beneath that facade lay a constant anger. This resentment gnawed at me like a persistent ache, and it took a very long time to be at peace with myself.


    I was mad about being an orphan, I was mad about the tragedy that befell Maggie, I was mad about the world''s refusal to make sense to me. Sure, I had all of the world''s knowledge, but understanding? That eluded me like a wisp of smoke slipping through my fingers. Maybe if I had let go of that anger, things could''ve turned out differently. Maybe I could''ve shielded them, been like the man my father''s legend painted him to be.


    But instead, I was just a kid, forced to shed my name like a snake sheds its skin. Forgotten was the fact that I was the son of the man who dubbed himself the sun that burns over land, sea, and sky. But I? I was just a brat. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>

 02 [CH. 0063] - The Nameless

    <blockquote>


    ¡°1925 days left¡­¡± by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition


    </blockquote>


    The journey to Ostesh was set to span seven days, beginning at the Antares station in Spiyles. The route would wind through various places, including a stop at Keblurg and a brief pause at the Ole Metro city train station, before finally reaching its terminus in the province of Quebaca, nestled in Ostesh.


    Only twenty-five hours into the trip, Orlo was already feeling the discomfort of his cramped seat. He attempted to distract himself with a book. It was an essay analysing the different types of blood. However, he found its scarcity of reference to human blood as frustrating as a lack of taste and know-how; to him, the book seemed outdated and poorly written. It was a terrible choice to bring in such a long trip.


    Disappointed, Orlo abandoned it midway through a chapter and turned his attention to the artificial light landscape speeding by outside the window.


    "Master is awfully quiet," the little mouse observed from his shirt pocket.


    "Not feeling great," Orlo confessed, his hand instinctively moving to his belly.


    "Not feeling great, as in missing Godmama and Claramae?" the mouse inquired.


    "Not feeling great, as in I think I''m going to throw up," Orlo complained, rubbing the back of his neck with the other hand. "I''m just so tired."


    "Why don''t you take a nap? I''ll keep watch over everything," the mouse suggested.


    "I think I will," Orlo agreed, settling his head back against the cushioned seat. He placed both hands over his belly, applying slight pressure to ease his ache.


    However, the persistent clatter of the train on the rails and the constant shaking of the wagon prevented him from finding a comfortable position.


    It was impossible for him to drift off. Instead, he felt like he was being tossed and turned in his seat.


    Until suddenly, everything changed. The once persistent noise of the train ceased, and the light posts that had been rushing by outside the window were replaced by complete darkness. Orlo noticed that the sound of the train on the rails had diminished to a mere whisper, creating an eerie, almost surreal atmosphere around him. But that was something the boy was used to.


    Orlo realized that his luggage had vanished, and there was no sign of the little mouse either. Just then, a man seated in front of him spoke.


    "Here," he said, extending a paper bag towards Orlo.


    "What''s this?"


    "It is what it is. You''ll need it later," the man replied cryptically. In the very fainted light, Orlo could make out the man''s attire - a brown tailored suit. He noticed that the man was redheaded, like himself, and had an ember-coloured eye, while the other was covered with a black eye patch. The wagon was almost completely dark, but even in the faint light, Orlo could discern the glint of a gun in the man''s holster beneath his elegant blazer and an unusual cane that seemed more like a very thin rifle.


    "Thanks, I guess," Orlo said, accepting the paper bag.


    "You''re welcome," the man replied, his voice tinged with a dry chuckle. "Now is the time for questions."


    "What questions?"


    "Look around you."


    Orlo did as instructed, but all he could see was darkness. For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming, but there were no familiar elements like whales, cities in the sky, or anything he would typically find in a dream.


    Yet, an overwhelming sense of familiarity enveloped the scene, almost as if he had lived through this moment repeatedly. A looping sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu, over and over again.


    "A dream?" Orlo asked, trying to make sense of the situation.


    "Sort of, but yes, it could be classified as a dream," the man replied.


    "So, this isn''t the first time," Orlo stated, more to himself than as a question.


    "It is not," the man confirmed.


    "You said questions... I guess it''s me who''s supposed to ask them," Orlo surmised.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    "So it seems," the man agreed.


    "But I don''t have any."


    "Or perhaps you have too many?"


    After a brief pause, Orlo asked the most fundamental question that such a situation required. It was, after all, a matter of politeness, "Who are you? I mean, what¡¯s your name?"


    The man rubbed his thumb against his nose and leaned forward, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I''ve reached a point in my life where I have so many names, I am unsure which one truly is me."


    "Is Orlo one of them?" the boy asked.


    "Yes," the man replied, chuckling as he leaned back against the seat, settling into a more relaxed position. "They say it''s good for the heart to talk with your past self. Asking them if they''re proud of what you have become."


    ¡°I do not know what we have done¡­ to be proud or not.¡±


    Orlo straightened himself in his seat, coming to terms with the realization that this was definitely a dream, but not just any dream. It was the kind of dream that transcended time and reality, a feat he knew he couldn''t achieve in his present state.


    "Do we become teachers?" Orlo asked.


    "Yes, we do and more."


    "Do we like it? I mean, really like it?"


    "Yes, each semester is like undertaking a new adventure. There are always new faces, new questions, and new challenges. Sometimes, we find ourselves learning more than we teach. And to us, that''s what makes it fun," the man explained.


    "That does sound fun, the way you put it. Next question..." Orlo''s gaze then shifted to the place where the pot containing the faerie had been previously, a concern too evident betraying his voice, "Is Maggie okay?"


    "Yes, well... she''s still the same. Meaning, we''re still waiting. She is still a flower saying hello to the sun until sunset in the living room."


    "Is it true that... you know, like my mother and father... was I... are we hexed?" Orlo ventured cautiously, almost whispering the question as if it was a dirty secret.


    "Why do you think you need that paper bag?"


    "Oh, really? So early?" Orlo was surprised, "I don''t know if I''m ready! Do we like her?"


    "No, we don''t like her," the man said, pausing for a moment.


    "No?" Orlo echoed, his confusion evident. How would it be possible that he would dislike his own Hexe?


    "We love her more than we could ever explain," the man''s words interrupting the mist of thoughts that Orlo was instilling.


    "So, do we have a family?"


    The silence that followed Orlo''s question stretched on, almost becoming a presence in itself. Finally, the man took a deep breath and answered, "I think we can call it that."


    "We don''t have children?"


    "Yes, we do," the man confirmed.


    "So why do you seem so sad?"


    A smirk crossed the man''s face, followed by a chuckle. "We always ask the same question," he mused.


    "What''s the answer, then?" Orlo persisted, eager to understand.


    "One day, you''ll be so mad, so deeply disappointed¡­ hurt. That you won''t find it in yourself to forgive her," the man revealed.


    "I already forgave Godmama, she..." Orlo began, but his voice trailed off until he understood that this wasn''t about Godmama.


    The man interrupted Orlo, "When it happens, just try to remember, to find a place in ourselves to forgive her. To understand why... well, we also will need to listen to her side. It''s going to hurt so much... but just... remember, it hurts her too. Just... forgive her, please. She loves us too, more than we can understand."


    "Oh, you mean... my Hexe?" Orlo asked, his understanding dawning as he connected the dots.


    The man simply nodded.


    "Well, I''m never really mad, and what could she possibly do to make me mad? If she''s my Hexe, she''s perfect, and she couldn''t do anything wrong. It doesn''t make sense," Orlo argued, every single word reflecting his na?vet¨¦.


    "We always say that."


    "Don''t worry, I won''t be mean to her."


    "We say that too," the man repeated, implying that Orlo couldn''t yet foresee. He still was only a kid.


    "Will I be tall?" Orlo then asked, shifting the topic.


    "Do I look tall to you?"


    "Hey, kid! Kid, wake up!" Orlo was abruptly awakened from his sleep by a large orc dressed in a blue uniform. The orc, sporting large fangs touching his funny moustache, was shaking him rather roughly.


    Orlo, startled, realized that the train had come to a stop. "What happened? Is there an issue with the engine?" he asked, still disoriented.


    "What are you babbling about? We arrived thirty minutes ago. Get up and out with you!" the conductor said, sounding impatient.


    "We arrived? But it''s only been a couple of hours," Orlo responded, still confused.


    "A couple of hours? Kid, you''ve been sleeping for the whole ride!" the orc exclaimed, "I had to check on you a couple of times to be sure you weren''t dead!"


    Quickly, Orlo started to gather his things, but a sudden wave of nausea overcame him. Unable to control it, he turned towards the conductor and retched over his blue uniform, overwhelmed by the unexpected motion sickness.


    Orlo coughed and glanced at the conductor, whose face was now flushed green with anger. "I''m so sorry, I..." he began, but his apology was cut short.


    "You have a bloody paper bag in your hand; next time, use it!" the conductor snapped.


    Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Orlo hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and carefully picked up Maggie''s pot. He turned back to the conductor, who was attempting to clean the vomit off his uniform. "I''m really sorry..." He tried to apologize again.


    "Out with you," the conductor shouted.


    Orlo stepped off the wagon, and the cold air of the long Night hit him, but it did little to calm his nausea. He felt dizzy, teetering on the verge of fainting. As he made his way through the station, he abruptly stopped and dropped his bag on the floor, bracing himself to vomit again. But just then, he heard a girl''s voice.


    "Are you Orlo?"


    <blockquote>


    I made numerous attempts to tame the tempest within, to cultivate a sense of serenity. Yet, how does one influence tranquillity in a kid convinced of his own omniscience? Besides, there was a secret I couldn''t bear to share, not even with her¡ªmy Hexe. What if my revelations altered the course of events in such a manner that I would no longer dare to approach her?


    Each solitary trip to my past became a debacle, a reminder of my fallibility. Yet, paradoxically, it served as a moment of redemption¡ªa chance to confront my shortcomings and concede, "I was just a kid." In the end, I arrived at the arduous realization that the most taxing exercise of all is the act of self-forgiveness. I''m still working on it. ¡ª¡ªThe Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer


    </blockquote>